


The Boarding experiment

by GakupoMurtagh



Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: 079 is a jealous little shit, Alternate Universe - Domestic, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Slightly graphic medical procedures, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-01-25 07:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 40,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12525816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GakupoMurtagh/pseuds/GakupoMurtagh
Summary: So, the foundation has decided to try and negotiate with some of the SCP's. Their method is... odd, to say the least.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first post, I'll try and update it regularly-ish. I have no set schedule or anything.

In the old files lies the records of a particular experiment. All of which was recorded by the participants, who have long since been lost to time. Though it is certain they still live. The file’s first section is 5 pages worth of personal accounts of the beginning of the experiment. Dating has been difficult, though the identities of the writers was written before their accounts.   
The experiment reads as follows:

049:  
It was last week in which the Foundation presented its request, which is, as follows: SCP-035, SCP-682, SCP-096, SCP-173, SCP-106, Dr.Bright and I, SCP-049, are to be subject to inhabiting the same house, for a now unspecified amount of time. Furthermore, if we abide by the basic fabric of society, and its standards, the best we are physically able, we will be permitted to temporarily travel to, and remain in (for an also undetermined duration), an alternate dimension, where we can unleash all that we are capable of. Or in the words of the Foundation: ultimate destruction.  
Though, to clarify, this “proposal” of theirs is mandatory, even if they had originally advertised it as if it wasn't. It did not take long for them to realize I was not fooled, in which they simply explained their entire plan.   
But not their reasoning.  
I have overheard some of the staff saying we should do just fine. Yet I propose a revision to that statement. We should do fine, with using “fine” in possibly the least boundary-holding sense of the word.

035:  
This is quite the maneuver I never expected the foundation to pull. We promise to follow their society in exchange for temporary free roaming, albeit in another dimension.  
I don’t need this… arrangement to do whatever I want but this is an offer I can’t refuse. Though they failed to actually make it seem that I had a choice.  
I mean, so many SCP’s in one house!   
Also, just for the record, I'm aware this little experiment of theirs is a completely stupid idea. On their part. I found it equally odd they tried to make it seem like we had a choice in the matter.  
My main question is: How did they come up with this idea? Any one of the SCP's they will crammed into that not exactly passive either, myself included. Hell, I can melt through anything, or anyone, in my way, 682 is infamous for his breaches, 049 isn’t someone to turn your back to either. 173 is only a menace if it escapes, the same goes for 096. And Dr.Bright is just a disaster waiting to happen.  
I mean, it is fairly safe to say that this whole plan violates most of the foundation’s policies. And its general ideas on how SCP's should be dealt with. Simply put, a therapist is kept around with me to help the workers, not my emotional well-being.  
With that being said, I am ecstatic.

682:  
I don’t know whose fucking idea this was. I don’t have any goddamn idea why I agreed to this. To be fair, the foundation has some pretty damn compelling bargains when they want to. Because for some fucking reason they wanted to.   
Either way, I’m stuck in a house with that fucktard Dr.Bright, and a few other “SCP’s”, ode to fucking joy. I don't even know the other bastards.  
They better uphold their promise.

106:  
These idiots! Hooligans.  
When will I ever be left to do what I want? Bastards. I can’t say, if they want honesty, I will really mind the domesticity of this, but the rest of them will drive me nuts.  
I’m too old for curiosity.  
I’m too invincible for care.  
But I’m too angry to take risks.

173:   
I don’t like it. Why should I?  
I never liked it. Too controlling. This is odd. I’m still not free.   
Why. Can’t. I. be. Free?  
I will be soon. They will be dead.   
That is what was agreed.

Dr.Bright:  
Oh Hell yeah!! Guess who is going to be trapped in a house with multiple keter and Euclid class SCP’s? Me.   
The 0-5 asked if I would be worried about being with the SCP’s, I argued it is not that different from a regular containment site. I got kicked out if the room immediately.  
Anyway, immortality has its perks, doesn’t it?  
This going to be fucking awesome.  
The SCP’s had to agree not to damage me too much, perimeters have been set, sort of.  
I’m actually more worried about 096, 106 and 173, the less intelligent ones. 682, 049 and 035 can hold a promise, or at the very least, be smart enough to understand the said promise. We shall see.


	2. The first day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, for the most part, refer to all of the SCP's as a "he", unless proven otherwise. In this case, 035 is a he and so is 096, although 096 will often be called by the numbers or as an "it".

They all pile inside, with 173 leading, followed mindlessly by 096 and 106, who had 049 and 035 behind him. 682 begrudgingly stepped in. Each one was either curious or excited to explore their new surroundings. Bright was the most casual, strutting in, as he was used to houses, as he had lived in them more frequently. As, in all honesty, most of these SCP’s had lived in a home, or at least half of them had.  
The house was deceptively ordinary, as it should be for housing such monstrous creatures inside of its walls. But that does not mean it isn’t reinforced. The glass is acrylic, to keep it from being easily shattered. None of the SCP’s present required any specific climate so nothing was pressurised. The door wasn’t a regular, hallow or otherwise thin layers of wood, it was steel-inforced. But it looked like a normal door in all aspects save for it having three deadbolts and two industrial grade chains on the inside.   
Now, the foundation did not build this place from the ground up, they simply made modifications. It was quite lucky of them to find out this house was old enough to were the frame was made of metal. There is a garage and a backyard, but the garage can only be opened by Jack. They don’t have a car or a lot of extra stuff so it honestly is just an extra room at this point. The backyard’s door is accessible through the garage and has a similar security fitting as the front door. The fence is also rigged to be electric, with a metal, electrical inside and a wooden exterior. Jack also had the full capability to turn the electricity on and off of the fence, which he mostly planned to do at night, since it was more to keep people out rather than the SCP’s in, although it does help dissuade them from trying to escape out the back when Jack is asleep. The foundation desperately wanted to install cameras in every inch of the ceiling but opted instead to place them outside exclusively. They needed to trust these SCP’s to a degree if the SCP’s were to trust them too.   
As 682 walks in, “This is it?” he growls, one of his nostrils twitching slightly as he raises it in disgust. It didn’t smell bad but it did have that sort of brand new house smell, not from the house itself but from the furniture inside.  
“Welcome everyone, to our new home! As you can see, the house isn’t huge, per say.” Bright starts off, pretending to be a realtor. “After the front door, there is this nice, carpeted, long hallway.”  
“This carpet is hideous.” 106 mutters, he was used to a more “classy” style. Back in his day the carpet was neutral but had a fine quality. This stuff is bright yellow with a haphazard design etched out by orange coloured lines.  
“Off to the side, there are two bedrooms, one of which has only a large, two person bed, while the other is tightly packed with small, one person beds. I know decent space was in your wishlist but we’ll make it work.” The rooms were dark at least, which made for some nice atmosphere to the SCP’s. The beds could barely hold some, even being a little small for most humans. 096 would be fully able to take up 2, 682 would prefer 3 and the rest of the household would soon find the couch to be a more desirable sleeping place.  
Each bed was dressed with a single pillow and a simple blue bedspread that hung just past the bed frame. Even the large bed had the same, plain coverings.  
“Next to the first bedroom, the one with the solitary bed, is the bathroom, then there is the living room, and then in the back left corner of the house is the kitchen.” The bathroom was a full bathroom but it wasn’t too large and was wedged in between the bedroom and living room. It had simple white tiling on the floor and similarly coloured wallpaper. The sink and toilet were both white and the bathtub as too. The only thing that broke up this monochromatic trend was the tiling around the bathtub, which was a pale blue, and the shower curtain, which was printed to have a large bloodstain on it, and a bathroom mat that matched the same graphic design.  
Luckily most of them don’t have standard bodily functions and won’t need anything other than the sink and shower.  
“We can all marvel at the incredible furnishing choices,” 035 interjects, picking up an almost radio-fitting voice. “We have been given a computer and TV. And look at this exquisite bookshelf and chessboard. Let’s be honest folks,” he pauses for effect, “this house has pretty basic furnishing. But, clearly the ass-hat who designed our cells was given the credit card for this house’s interior design.”  
“Some fucking place they scraped up.” 682 snorts, sitting on the couch. It is a pale creme colour. It could fit are about 3 people, even including 096’s and 682’s abnormal size.  
The living room wasn’t terribly big. It had the couch on one wall, that wall had two windows, and there was the bookshelf that was on the same wall that had the doorway to the kitchen and connected to the hallway. The TV was mounted on the wall that had the bathroom door, the chessboard was on the last wall, all by itself, and there was a tiny coffee table in between the TV and couch. Nothing else was present.  
“I would consider it an improvement from our last housing conditions.” 049 comments. He was interested in the books. To be fair, the shelf was filled completely with books. 049 found the selection odd, nothing scientific and almost only fantasy. He would still read some, even if they were going to be boring, as he wasn’t going to suffer through anything more modern than what those books would be. Not that he found fantasy boring reading. When he was younger he read fantasy often and would notice how what was considered “fantasy” could relate so heavily to the anomalous creatures he knew existed.  
It wasn’t too long before they heard the door open and click shut,“What was that?” Jack looks out from the kitchen. He had been testing the appliances. They were all up to date, relatively speaking. They worked properly and looked new. There was also plenty of space, both in counter and floor space. The floor was a typical white tile, each tile being about a foot wide. The counter was a black, synthetic material. They had a sink with two sections, one with a garbage disposal, there was a simple dishwasher, a large fridge, and an oven and stove. And, most importantly, a toaster.  
“096,” 035 answers. He had been inspecting the bathroom first, mostly turning on and off the water of the sink and shower, as well as flushing the toilet, mostly because he was a high possibility there would be something wrong with them. He only knew 096 was the one who left was because of the split second he had stepped out of the bathroom and watched 096 lumber outside.  
096 had taken to wandering around the neighborhood. “This is odd. I don’t mind.” It entertains itself.  
The change of scenery was nice, it had been so long since it was legitimately allowed to wander at its will. Immediately outside of the house were other houses. They weren’t in a cul-de-sac but still at a no outlet street. More northward was a small wood, which drew 096’s attention.  
Due to its lack of stress, it actually bothered to think. With nothing around in the foundation, nothing to stimulate thought, its mind had gone blank, the pacing was so subconscious, it had to think if it wanted to actually change any pattern of its walking.  
The light was slightly blocked by the tree leaves, giving the path ahead a nice green shadow. The path was dirt, and well enough worn that it didn’t have a single blade of grass on it. A ray of light penetrated the canopy, shining down on a rock. Its pink, glistening surface stands out. 096 bends down and examines it, too unsure to pick it up just yet. With one swift, effortless movement, it cracks it open. Inside is a small gemstone. Marveled by its shining beauty, 096 holds onto it as it wanders around, trying to find more.  
From a small log, a frog hops out. It wasn’t too vibrant but it caught 096’s attention. With a burst if speed, 096 runs at it, and in a sweeping movement 096 has it in its hands. After the exhilarating chase, 096 soon becomes sidetracked, and spends some time tracking down frogs.  
It didn’t take long for him to get a small collection of stones, rocks and frogs, as well as some mushrooms, as well as apples. Finding some trash, he manages to bend himself a hook and find fishing line, he never showed much brainpower to the scientists. He knows somethings, not much, just basic survival, and, even in that, there is the idea to appear dumber, but not weaker, than your predators.  
Back at the house, 682, 106, 035 and Jack had been watching the T.V, save for 173 and 049, hardly without some harsh commentary from 682.  
173 was about as elusive as it gets, as he was really not in one spot at any one given moment. 049 sat comfortably in the living room with them, yet he was not as enamoured by the T.V as they were and he preferred to read.  
“You people really watch this?! I understand your species are considerable lesser, but I expected more.” 682 snorts.  
“That’s because you’re watching Adam Sandler.” Bright walks over, sitting next to 682. He takes the remote, and changes the channel to the history channel, which happened to be broadcasting the history of ancient Greece.  
“Oooo!” 035 jumps to the opposite side of Bright, “let’s see how bad they mess this up!”  
“How do you know if they’re wrong?” 173 spouts, almost at a lightning speeds. He had just darted into and now out of the kitchen.  
“I was there.” 035 states rather matter-of-factly.  
“Ah, so I see why Greece fell.” Bright snorts.  
“Do I look like the Palestinians, or the mass emigration, or the failing crops? I screwed over Rome though, I’ll admit.” he chuckles.  
“What time is it?” 173 speeds through.  
Bright glances at his phone. “One-thirty a.m.”  
173 zips through the house for just a bit longer before he eventually takes to the beds. He had never shown any signs of wanting and/or needing to sleep, but he was clearly trying it now. 096, having just walked in, follows 173.  
“I’m not going to sleep until I get some food.” 682 growls.  
“Then get some.” Jack and 035 snap at him in unison. “I checked when I first came here, we have nothing.” 682 explains.  
“The foundation said there was some.” Jack got up, missing the part of the show that got into the details of the Trojan horse. However, much to his dismay, when he checked the fridge and pantry, there was nothing. “Nevermind…” he mutters.  
“Did you think I was lying?” 682 asks. He was very offended at the idea Jack figured he was.  
“No,” Jack sighs. “Who wants to go to the store with me?” He quickly found no one person wanted to. “How about 035,106 and 049?”  
“I do not think you will need my help.” 049 politely declines.  
“Hell no.” 106 refuses.  
“Just get take out.” 035 offers, far too engulfed in the show and in the hoard of blankets he wrapped himself in to really want to go.  
“Good point.” Jack picks up the phone, calling the nearest BBQ restaurant for about 20 people’s worth of food. Meat specifically. And, despite the worker’s obvious resentment, they still showed up at the door.  
“I have a full order for ‘damn you, Six-hundred, eighty-two’,” a young man reads out from the receipt. He was not alone, as three other men were there to help him deliver this.  
“Thanks.” Jack plops a wad of cash in front of them, “you can keep the change.”  
“This wasn’t some sort of dare was it?” The man begins to ask but he began to trail off as 049 and 106 came to assist Jack in taking the food inside. Both of which did so unwillingly, as Jack can be so annoying it’s persuasive.  
The workers stare in silence as one counts out the money. Once they find it to be enough, they speed away quickly.  
The food was dished out mostly to 682, but Jack, 106, and 035 took small plates. They all watched the rest of the show, with some added commentary generously supplied by 035, which Jack had to admit was actually good commentary and did improve the show as a whole.  
Once they finished eating, 682 was the first of the group to wander off to bed. He was followed by 106, who was in turn followed by 035.  
Jack stayed behind a bit longer, to clean up (this he was able to do with some assistance from 049, who liked things to be clean), and make sure the house was all locked up and everyone was still inside.  
“Are you going to sleep?” Jack asks 049.  
“No, but rest assured that I will merely be here,” he moves to the now vacant couch, “and I will be doing nothing more than reading.” he moves a stack of books with him. He was an incredibly fast reader, having read an entire shelf of books, and not small ones at that, in the time span of 2 hours.  
“If you say so. Good night.”  
“Good night.” 049 politely answers.  
682 did not happily take the room they had been given, “this? This is what they give us?” he complains.  
“How terrible” Bright flops onto the first bed, locking the door behind him.  
“It looks like someone used a failed Tetris level for the beds’ layout.” 035 snorts, laying down.  
“This is going to be Hell.” 106 mutters.  
“This already is.” 682 growls, finding a bed for himself.


	3. The Trip to the Grocery store

It was the second day at the new house, the second. Jack woke up to almost jumping out of his skin when the realization of how many SCP’s were with him, then to the fact that they had not broken into his living quarters and were rather bunking with him.  
Ever so slowly he crept out of his room to the living room. 049 was seated, as expected, in the living room reading. Other than him no one was in the living room, or anywhere else. Jack heard the community bedroom door open and close quickly, to have the front door follow shortly after. He caught a blur of 096 in the between distance. He reasoned they were just as uncertain with him as he was with them.  
He passed by 049 with the full preparation to bolt into the kitchen. He was hungry.  
He began to untie the bread and pull out the toaster. When he felt the air behind him being blocked for a second. Which one of them was it? Old nerves kick in. He has to fight the paralysis. He turns his head a little bit to the right, no one. He begins to turn it to the left, expecting something.  
“Boo!” Two boney hands wrapped around his shoulders.  
Jack let out a high pitched shriek and tried to throw bread at his attacker, which missed horribly. Behind him, his attacker, was 035 who was in the middle of a laughing fit.  
035 never says anything after he finished laughing and began to rummage through the kitchen as Jack peeled the bread off of the floor.  
“There’s nothing here!” 035 slams a cabinet door.  
“We just got here,” Jack snarls, almost dropping the bread he was holding as he fumbled with it as he tried to feed it into the toaster.  
“And?” 035 asks, clearly not finding that line of reasoning to be sufficient.  
“You don’t even need food,” Jack points out. He tapped his fingers on the marble counter.  
“That doesn’t mean I can’t eat. We’re going to the store, now.” 035 orders.  
“Fuck no. I- you’re trying to order me around? That’s not in your place.” Jack snaps, he seemed legitimately offended but his harsh expression softened at the sound and sight of his toast suddenly appearing.  
“Fine, you lost your chance to go,” 035 shrugs. He begins to head out of the house but never makes it as Jack pulls him back before he left the kitchen.  
“Fine! Who all is coming?” Jack quickly butters his toast before he has to leave the kitchen to follow 035.  
“049, 049,” 035 calls, his only response from 049 is when 049 looks up. Annoyance was not short in his metallic, grey eyes. “Are you coming to the store with us?” He asks hopefully, only to get no response after 049 looked at both of them and went back to his book.  
“Then that would be no one. Actually...” 035 thinks for a second before he dashes to the community bedroom. He disappears through the door, leaving Jack to wait for him. Jack couldn’t hear anything from that room, the AC was the only sound. That and his breathing. 035 walked back into view, finally. However, he was not alone. Following behind him was 106.  
Both had skeletal bodies, both of which were covered in viscous liquids. They looked like siblings from the same Hell.  
“Come on,” 035 beckons Jack, he has one hand on the doorknob but he hadn’t opened it, 106 stood behind him, first patient, but that degraded quickly.  
“Will you open the door?” 106 hisses, sure he could go through the floor but he was still unsure of what all he was technically allowed to do.  
“Jack, 106 is waiting,” 035 presses. Jack concedes and comes forward, he was more worried about 106’s reaction to the delay rather than 035’s, who wasn’t going to wait for Jack’s permission.  
They soon cross the front door, the light breeze hitting them as the sun began to slowly rise over the tops of the distant skyscrapers. The sun blinded Jack but 035 and 106 were unaffected.  
035 did not move as quickly as he had throughout the house, his hurry was not as fueled. He looked around. He looked at the neighborhood, at the house, he stared at the front door for a bit, the idea that he could freely leave any form of containment was now a foreign concept. The city was small but developed. 035 hadn’t been outside in a long time, that fact only struck him when he began to count his years in containment.  
106 was not so sentimental. He was promised something, Jack was sure of it. Whether he had been promised a sort of reward for his participation in this little trip or not, he did not care for the in between from beginning to the end.  
After their initial slow start, they walked to the mart. The store was a large supermarket, it was in a warehouse with white outside walls, a large parking lot and an unusually low number of shoppers. A cool breeze blows past them as they enter inside. Immediately the staff stare at the motley crew who had just stepped foot into their store.  
Standing before them was a normal looking man with a large necklace, a skeletal dude with a white mask over his face and splotches of what looks like black ink, and an even more skeletal old dude who wasn’t even a natural colour and looked more like he had been rolled around in various red, brown, black syrups and some honey as a glaze.  
“So, what is it that you want?” Jack asks 035.  
“I need olives, let’s start there. I haven’t ever been in a store such as this. I know it isn’t that different from a market, but I find the organization of your stuff to be… impractical.” He answers as he scans the aisle markers.  
Jack walks back to the front and he grabs a cart, he is fairly certain he will be needing at least one. He found 035 quickly, as although 035 was no longer in the same location as he had been. Since 035 is capable of reading English he had found the olives (canned naturally).  
“What is that for?” 035 glances at the cart.  
“It’s a cart, how else do you want to carry what you get?” Jack answers.  
035 gives no verbal answers, rather he raises his created hands to an eye level behind him. Each hand had a massive jar of olives in them. Jack counted 15 jars.  
“No, put them in,” Jack orders. They were already drawing a bunch of attention, in this aisle alone, two people on the far end were staring in horror at the formed hands, first confused but then truly terrified when they saw that 035 had control of them and had made them, once that became evident as they disappeared upon his dismissal.  
“Ok, what next?” Jack sighs, disheartened.  
“Octopus.”  
“Wait, what?”  
“I need octopus.”  
“No. They don’t sell it here.”  
“What kind of store is this?” 035 complains.  
“Pick something else.”  
“Is there lamb?”  
“Let’s see,” Jack leads him to the meat. “It was here,” he stares into the empty column of the meat fridge.  
“How can you tell?” 035 peers in.  
“The tag here, it shows what is supposed to be there.” Jack explains. He never thought that he would have to explain a grocery store to someone who has scored a 99th percentile on intelligence tests.  
“Go get pita, tomato, onion, and tzatziki sauce.”  
“Are you trying to order me around?”  
“Just go get it.” All desire to argue against 035 on Jack’s behalf faded as 035 climbs into the freezer. He seats himself and looks around, he ignores Jack. The cold air swirls around him, giving him a sort of mystic air to go with his bat-shit insanity.  
Jack shakes his head and goes off. The produce was of a large selection, nearly 15 types of tomatoes alone. Sure Jack would normally find picking out a small bunch of tomatoes to be one of the easiest of his shopping errands. Yet when you are dealing with the possibly emotionally unstable, prissy, and picky mask who had given him no other instruction than “go get tomatoes” without any idea as to the quantity and type, this was difficult. The same could go for the onions and even the pita as well. He wasn’t even sure what tzatziki sauce was. He wasn’t Greek, not a drop of his blood was.  
He resorted to the 035 route: excess. He got 3 pounds of 5 different types of tomatoes. He had 15 pounds of tomatoes. He did the same with the onion and he got an industrial quantity of pita bread. He was the man from the math textbooks. Which drew him to consider if this stunt by the Foundation has been pulled before this time.  
Now tzatziki sauce. What on Earth was that? Is it like barbeque sauce? Or ranch? Tartar sauce? A fucking Greek form of ketchup? How was he supposed to know?! He searched the sauce aisle with the same dedication he had when searching for his I.D to get out of 939’s containment that he accidentally stumbled in there thinking he was finally flyting the insult box, SCP-735.  
He didn’t find it. He needed something to cover that up. Rather, a substitute. 035 wants Greek food. Well, what is Greek?  
Octopus. Ok, but this store doesn’t have that. Most stores won’t have that.  
Olives. We have that. Way too much of it.  
Lamb. It’s out and 035 has stolen its spot. Is he expecting them the restock?  
Pita. These aren’t anything new!  
Yogurt. Yogurt…. Now we’re talking. Greek yogurt is everywhere! It is flexible, in the since that Jack, a person with no cooking skill, figures it could work as a good substitute for… things… He ran to the yogurt, grabbing 5 pints of plain Greek yogurt.  
He was done with that. Now, whether that was sufficient was beyond anyone’s guess and was more beyond any one person’s knowledge.  
106\. The thought had just dawned on him. Where was he? He was gone by the time Jack came back with the cart and Jack was too preoccupied with 035 to recognize that until now. So, how will he find him?  
Jack stared helplessly into the aisles of the store. Each were a giant wall of stuff, obscuring his view and were daunting, he felt like an MTF who had been required to hunt down 106 and was in the maze of a Foundation site’s basement. But alas, he was simply lost to the bowels of the store.  
Where would someone like 106 be? What does the guy like? That, even then is a bit generous: suggesting he doesn’t hate everything so much he is capable of liking something.  
Round and round Jack prowled the aisles. He stopped. A fear spread through him as he was worried he had lost the keter SCP in a warehouse of people. Could 106 be put on a leash?  
He rested his arms on the shopping cart’s handlebars. His eyes wander to the spam box that was on the corner of the aisle. He wasn’t one to stay moping for long, even if hundreds of people’s lives are at risk, and he had never seen Spam not stacked on the shelves and just piled in a large cardboard container.  
Jack notices the eyes amongst the metal containers, who peered out like a spider in its burrow at unsuspecting prey. The dark, decaying skin around the bright eyes added an uncanny feel, like a charred skeleton with fake eyes slipped into the sockets.  
“106, what the fuck are you doing?” Jack yells at him, earning him some confused glares from the other shoppers, who couldn’t see the man Jack was talking to.  
“Enjoying myself,” 106 replies, his low growl echoes in the cans.  
“How?” Do most SCP’s like to burrow? He is fairly certain 035 has make a tunic of meat and now 106 is in a fortress of Spam.  
“I am not under the lights,” he clarifies. By now many people are concerned about the man who is talking to the spam. Oh yeah, Jack remembers, 106 hates bright lights, for whatever reason. Jack was never an outdoors kind of kid growing up but he never burrowed to avoid the sunlight.  
“So you decided to burrow in the spam?”  
“The what?”  
“The spam.” Jack clarifies.  
“Is that was this substance is called?”  
“Yes. Do you want some?”  
A long pause comes from within the bin, until a curt reply comes out, “yes.”  
“How much?”  
“How much can I get?” There is a shuffle from inside of the bin and the clanking of the cans is loud.  
“I would say two cans.” Jack offers, about ready to pull a couple into the cart.  
“Only two?!” 106 hisses which causes Jack to pull his hand back quickly in fear of what 106 may try to do.  
“Yes, because if you don’t like it, we aren’t wasting much but if you do like it you’ll have more.” Jack explains. He sighs, ‘this is just like working with a child,’ he thinks.  
“Fine.” 106 approves and he allows for Jack to take the cans. ‘Finally,’ Jack’s inner monologue begins.  
“Holy fuck!” Jack yelps, stumbling back a bit, seated in the cart is 035 with 15 lbs of veal.  
“They restocked,” he smirks.  
Jack snarls as he forcefully tosses the cans into the cart. “106, come on.”  
Jack steers the cart to the front, with 035 still in it, and many spam containers crash to the ground as 106 climbs out and follows behind.  
“Did you find everything you need?” A young, slightly terrified looking male cashier asks.  
“Close enough,” Jack replies. Jack began to load the conveyor belt with food. 035 and 106 take turns passing him food. 106 didn’t like touching the cold foods but 035 had no issue with handing him any types of food, even raw meat which Jack would normally not liking dealing with.  
“Is there anything you want ordered?” The cashier, named Joseph, offers.  
“We, there is-.”  
“No. There is nothing.” Jack interrupts 035 with a stern tone, not at the question but rather 035 beginning to answer.  
The kid stares at him a bit skeptical but doesn’t push. He was wondering why these guys were together, and why two of them look so strange. He finished scanning and bagging, “That will be…” a look crosses his face, that of disbelief and then shock, “534.55 dollars.”  
Jack silently pays, 035 was calculating the exchange of U.S dollars to the ancient Greek currency, every single one throughout history, and 106’s older sense of money was conflicting with the astronomical number on the receipt.  
“Let’s go.” They get home, each one carrying a substantial weight of food. Of which 106 dropped onto the kitchen floor and left 035 and Jack to put away. Which they did.  
The now barren cabinets and fridge were filled a bit more with not so much a variety of foods but a large quantity of one type of food. It was a Tetris game to get the lamb in there on its own, and it was even more difficult with everything else.  
“You didn’t even try,” Jack scolds 035 after they had finished.  
“Just show it to 049 and give him 15 minutes and it’ll be fixed, along with a lecture on how what we got wasn’t sufficient.” 035 shrugs, giving Jack a half-assed salute on his way out of the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I will be rearranging a lot of the chapters within this story (sorry to the wonderful person who is trying to translate parts of this story). I realized I did not set up a good connection with these characters to one another. The ideas I have come up with will fit the story post-surgeries, so I will be fixing that. Don't expect new chapters to be at the end of the fic! I will also be adding heavily to the previous chapters.  
> Thank you all!  
> 


	4. The House Rules

“Everyone, gather around.”Jack beckons each of the SCP’s to the living room. In which, he was standing at the back wall in which all of the SCP’s would be able to see him. 096 was given a special bag, which after much testing, was found to be able to allow 096 to still see but not trigger the murderous response if someone looked at the bag. This was done by making the mesh that covered 096’s eyes just thick enough for it to see, whilst the rest of the bag was a standard, thick, heavy-duty, black fabric.  
Upon everyone finally gathering around, Jack continues, “I am sure most of you all guessed this house would have rules.” An annoyed glare passed over all those that understood what that would entail. However, he still had their attention.  
“To begin, there is a curfew. You all are free to roam about the city,” a look of shock passed over most of their features, save for the masked face of 096 who even then stopped fidgeting. “And only the city,” Jack emphasizes, “but, you cannot leave the house before 10:00 a.m. unless other situations require you to do so, which I’ll get to. And you cannot be out past 7:00 p.m.”  
“That’s hardly any time outside!” 682 protests with an angry growl.  
“So we have a total of 10 hours in which we may be outside of this house?” 035 asks to spite 682.  
“Correct.” Jack responds. A growl and a glare from 682, which was directed at 035, followed, but luckily it did not escalate further.  
“Second, none of you may spend money without my permission to not only purchase an item or donate to a given organization but you will also need my approval for you to have the said item. I will also be the holder of the money. All of it.” Jack was reading off of a notepad. He flips to the next page before continuing. He also pulls out a cardholder.   
“Third, each of you have been provided with a library card. There is only one library in town, whose address is on the card, so there shouldn’t be an issue with you all going to the wrong library. You are to tell me which books you check out and when. This is simply to make sure you all return the books on time. The foundation has placed no restriction on what books you can get, but they ask you all agree to these terms. Term number one: take what is presented in these books with a grain of salt. Fantasy or any other fiction book will often feature parts that are influenced by reality, and possibly real anomalous SCP’s, but these books are still fiction and are not recognized by scientist, historians, geologist, etc. This especially applies to historical fiction. Term number two: history books are not always correct either. Information is altered over time and people’s testimonies are not considered reliable. Term number three: If you are unsure of how to interpret these books, it is recommended to go to me so even though I may not know the material completely I can reliably guide you to resources that do. Term number four: Don’t destroy the books.” Jack concludes. “I will hold on to each of your library cards, simply ask me if you want to use it.”  
“Rule number four, some of you will be given jobs, of which I will give you all the information to in a minute. They will all be in a field that should be within you all’s expertise, or at least what the foundation has deduced to be your area(s) of expertise.”  
“Fifth, do not kill me, I will come back, you are just setting yourself up for punishment. Sixth, do not destroy the house beyond what is inevitable due to you being you. And lastly, seventh, you all cannot send mail,” Jack summarizes.  
“That is what is there so far,” he hangs up a board that has all of these printed in a very large text on the wall. “If you need anything, just come to me. I will have to manage everything. I will be honest, I am left to do this all on my own.” Jack explains. When he waited to find no one was asking any questions, he passed out the papers that were the files on their specific jobs to them and looked over his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized all too late this chapter was kind of essential. I believe it will set the stage nicely for the upcoming "previous" chapters and for the "older" chapters (if it wasn't too evident my chapter marker is chapter 16). New rules may be added, but overall this chapter should remain relatively short and kind of vague, as that is only proper for a government organization.


	5. 035's first day at work

035:  
I am back in show business! After being cooped up for so long, it’s nice to be back out.   
Granted, when I was more active in performance, the times were different. I doubt I’ll be performing any old Greek legends any time soon.   
Thanks to my abilities, being a mask won’t be a hindrance to my acting. I could outdo any actor or actress without changing my expression once.   
Due to their stubbornness, I’m having to perform at a basic level, they’ll learn. If not, a good ten minutes with their director would be enough for me to soar through the ranks.  
It doesn’t take me long to arrive, this body has long legs. It’s in an old theater, not a very good one. It didn’t appear to be two story from the outside, but it was pretty tall, this is usually to help with the internal near ceiling level walkways as well as the high seating and the sheer quantity of seats. Not to mention how much space in all directions a stage takes up.   
The old 50’s style sign had rusted and any lights on it has long since cracked. The bricks looked like they were slowly becoming brittle, with some sections of the brick broken off and it beveling at other parts.  
The front doors are in a similar state, cracked and dirt stained. And inside it’s extremely musty, I’m thankful I don’t really have to breathe, I could see the dust floating around.  
They never told me much, neither the job nor the foundation, typical. I get to who most fits the position of manager.  
A quick tap on his shoulder catches his attention.  
“Who are you?” he stares.   
“William Bacon,” I recite the name the foundation assigned me, I bet they thought they were real fucking clever for that one.  
“Oh… that’s you. I thought the mentioning of your mask was a joke on your portfolio. Um, can you take it off?”  
“No.”  
“Why not?”  
“What will I be doing here? And, it’s glued to my face.”  
He stares, “it’s an improv show, go in and bounce off of what they’re doing.”  
I get closer. And I am happy disgust is not one of my immediate features, because this was pitiful.  
“We’ve got to alert the town. Go!” One potentially dedicated “actor” yells to a near terrified co-worker.  
I quietly walk up to the side of the stage, I figured they wouldn’t notice me. And for awhile they don’t. But as the co-worker was pretending to run to the town, he catches sight of me. His eyes widen and he pulls me onto the stage. “They’ve sent a knight.”  
I regain my balance. “What is attacking?” I ask.  
“Oh, nothing is attacking.” The first actor snaps, glaring at the second guy.  
“Shouldn’t you have to specify why you called me?” I snort, picking up a heroic voice.  
“We have struck gold! Is that not need for alert?”  
“Is that not in need of elaboration? We can’t come running to your beckoning call without reason!” This is just riveting, isn’t it?  
“I doubt so! You are a knight, you come when called” he snaps.  
“Yes, I came when called. But it is not me you need to be more specific with, it is the town you need to tell. Based by his reaction, they thought it was something far worse.” A bonus of not having eyeballs is being able to look around without anyone being able to tell where I’m looking. Honestly, I was inspecting the stage and not really focusing on what I was saying.  
“Well.” He thinks for a second, “you’ll just have to help me mine it.” He grabs a prop pickaxe and throws it to me.  
I catch it and wait for him to pull out one for himself. Now, the stage isn’t too bad. I notice we are in the back portion and that the curtains and backdrop were all easily moveable, a nice edition. Often they’re placement is stationary, which can make set design and performer formations a bit cramped or not the most efficient.   
“Alright! Lunch break! After that, go to Margaret for your roles, then you’re done for the day. William! Can you come here?” The manager calls.  
I walk over, having to weave through the mess of a back stage they have managed to create. “You show some promise. You seem to be a pretty good actor.”   
I was starting to chalk this up as just sarcasm, yet I eventually noticed there was a hint of legitimacy in his voice. “I have my strengths,” I shrug. I don’t need to flat out say I’m better than everyone, I know that I am, not to mention, it will be easier to progress if I always appear to deem myself as lesser than him. Also, I didn’t do shit, he must have very low standards.  
“you can go to lunch,” he quickly orders, before turning around and starting to talk to what I guess must be the lighting manager. I have no idea, yet. No one here has any sort of uniform, the exception is the actual manager, who had a name tag and bothered to crawl out of bed and put on something better than their sweatpants.   
I don’t need to eat, I’m sure that’s no surprise. However, that doesn’t mean I can’t, exactly. I didn’t pack anything, so I take the liberty of making myself a cup of tea, and try to find Margaret.  
I soon found that this building was two story. It didn't really appear to be, not by my standards at least. The stairs are really noisy, and despite how lightly I stepped they still made a bunch of noise.   
A plaque on the right of the first door reads “Role assignment, Mrs. Margaret”. I take two quick, but loud knocks.   
“Come in!” Her voice is muffled behind the door.  
I jog the doorknob, finding it to be locked. I use some of my viscous liquid to dissolve the locking mechanism and walk in. After a few thousand years of practice, I’ve gotten good with singling out certain areas, as the foundation found out.  
“Actually, I may have locked the do-,” she stops, turning around to face me. I quietly close the door behind me. “I guess I didn’t. Take a seat. You are?”  
“William.” I reply, sitting. It’s odd to have a “name” other than 035 after all these years. Sure I had multiple names over my lifetime, but the foundation has etched 035 into my conscious.  
“Right, well, I don’t have any specific job for you.” At that point, the manager walks in, not bothering to knock.   
“So, there’s this one guy,” he stops, looking down at me. “You’re supposed to be at lunch.”  
“I didn’t pack anything,” I shrug, “but I did make myself a cup of tea.”  
“He’s right here,” he points to me, “he’s promising. I recommend a monologue, or something similar.”  
I take a sip of the tea, and try not to spit it out. It’s disgusting! Who thought blackberry leaves and pomegranate peels would work together?  
“Ok, I’ll try to give him a lead role. You can go now.” Margaret dismisses me. I don’t waste any time and I turn around and leave.  
I go back home, a different way than I came, we weren’t given a map of the neighborhood, so I’m having to navigate my way home on intuition alone.   
After two wrong turns, and probably five cases of trespassing, I get home. We have yet to “personalise” it. I honestly hope we do so soon, because it is pretty bland and is built in a very poor style. Although a new house, a bigger one, would be preferable.  
I come up to the door, trying to open it, only to find it locked. I was moving pretty quickly and although I don’t feel pain, do I notice my shoulder impacts quite heavily with the door frame. I jog the doorknob again, and I do no more than confirm that the door is locked.  
While I check to see if the windows were an option to climb in through, I begin to unlock the door using one of my created appendages. If I really felt like it, I could climb on the piano into the window behind it, which I can see from here is unlocked, but that won’t work.   
After delicately creating and arm, I unlock the door and walk in. I don’t know why we lock the door, no intruder can possibly match the abilities of any one of us. Normally, I’d just do what I did back at work and dissolve the lock, however work doesn’t have a 049 there. He’d be extremely irritated if I destroy even an inch of this house, aside from what I do inherently. I was being so careful with the arm as to avoid destroying the carpet. Same goes with the piano, I’m not going to get away with stepping on it. And he’ll know it was me. He has this uncanny ability.  
Although, I guess to anyone, everyone has some uncanny ability.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignore what I had said before, this is 035's first day. I probably will be editing it later, but I did change it. I figured it needed a bit more for a proper introduction of his work. As aforementioned, I will be adding 049 and Dr.Bright's day at work, but 682 and 106's day at work will come before. Since I'm not a huge fan of a shit ton of chapters, 049's and Dr.Bright's, although having different jobs, unlike 682 and 106, will be in the same chapter. I will be adding in 079 soon too. As mentioned, leave any requests/criticisms, whatever. 682 and 106's chapter should be out soon. Thanks!


	6. 682 & 106's first day of work

When they told me I was going to work as a criminal, I at first I thought they were joking. But no… they had to be serious. And, I was stuck as such a low class gang member. Why do I need gang members?! Why do I need a fucking job?  
106 and I have the same job, shifts and all. So I leave with him. They didn’t give us a map. At all. Assholes.  
****  
I can’t say traveling to work with 682 is a bad thing. I can’t say that about having the same job as him. The issue is, I have this job.  
I’m old, way too old for this. I don’t care enough, either.  
“Do you know the way?” 682 growls, glaring at the alleyway we’re treading through.  
“Am I supposed to?” I snap, “All they’ve given us is a stained napkin with the address scribbled on it.”  
He snarls. “Get over it.” I snort at him. I fling a bit of my viscous liquid on him, it begins to eat through his hand. It heals over quickly, an astounding rate.  
He looks up at me, wrapping his hand around my throat. For once that panic I had discarded comes back, I can’t breathe. He pulls pack and throws me into a fence, it still stabs me from the impact, but I eat through it and fall onto the ground.  
“What the Hell?” A brute walks up. “Oh shit, it’s the new recruits. Boss, they’re here!”  
I pull myself off of the ground, 682 shoulders me on his way to in front of me. We’re at where most would expect, an old warehouse, by old I mean abandoned, it looks like it was from my time, the parking lot has remained clear, except for some old crates, the grass has grown extremely high everywhere else. I can’t see very much, however someone comes from behind one of the crates.  
A nicely dressed gentleman walks up. “I see you two finally showed up. I was expecting something different. You guys know the old gangsters of the 20’s?”  
“I knew a few of them.” I reply. You think I'm joking?  
“I’ll believe it, Gramps’.” He looks me up and down. “We’re trying to run our show just like they did. That means we’ve got class. To each other as well,” he glares at 682, “you got it?”  
I nod yes, 682 exhales, in a noise all to similar to a horse. He takes that as a yes, and gestures for us to follow. “The name’s McCoy, we’ve got a job, based by his strength, and whatever that was,” he points to the fence, “I think you two will be suited to come along.”  
“What are we doing?”  
“Robbing diamonds.”  
“Al Capone stole alcohol.” 682 comments.  
“Well alcohol ain’t illegal, now is it?” McCoy mockingly replies.  
We hop into the bed of a truck, five other people are next to us. With a jolt, they speed out. One of the guys in the back seat opens the window. “Can you boys hear me?” McCoy yells, he isn’t driving, so he’s turned toward us. Everyone responds with a collective “yes”, and he continues. “So, this is pretty downtown. The coppers aren’t anywhere near us, but don’t doubt them. They’re quick. They have a pretty decent security system, as expected. We had an original plan, but, Gramps, what can you eat through?”  
“Anything solid.” The other men stare at him, then me. Their surprise will be fun to see.  
“Great, you know anything about sensors?”  
“I destroy them all the time.”  
“They have four motion sensors by the door, and three in each safe. I want you to locate them, destroy them, as well as any alarms. We’ll know you’re done when you open the door, and noting goes off, got it?”  
“Yes.”  
“Now, green giant,” he points to 682, “You’re the muscle, I’m sure you can tear off a safe door, right?”  
“I can pick up the building.” 682 growls. Given his pride, he’s probably slightly offended.  
“I’m sure you can figure out your job. The rest of you boys, I need some for look out, some for baggin’ and other. John, you get them settled.”  
During the rest of the ride, “John” gave everyone else jobs. We have 13 people total, I’ll break us in, 8 guys are going to act as patrol, 682 will open the safes, 3 guys will help with bagging the things, and we’re gone. That is all that I gathered, and probably all I need to know. I was a bit distracted, I never really realized how much I’ve missed since being kept at the foundation. I hadn’t traveled very much, and almost never went to cities. The city is still bright at night, but not as much as I had expected. Once we got into the city, it was dark, and quite nice. It was cold too. The speed of the truck made it hard to focus on one thing, but every once in awhile I could get a good look at a storefront or some apartment complex. Looking up was just as interesting, I’ve forgotten buildings have grown so tall.  
Where we’re robbing is in the center of what McCoy called the “diamond district”, I don’t recall those ever being a common feature of cities. I had expected so much more security from such a district, and an actual district, not the two streets the thing was. We park a street down and walk over.  
“I want you to go in through the roof, luckily this building is only one story.” McCoy explains. Despite it being one story, that does not mean I can exactly get up there.  
“Need me to help.” 682 stands besides me, he must have figured there’s no way in Hell I’m getting up there.  
“Now, we’ve got a ladd-,” McCoy stops, as 682 picks me up and throws me onto the roof. I stumble a bit but regain my footing. “That works…”  
I begin to disintegrate the floor, normally I’d just come out the floor of the building, but I don’t know its layout, so just working my way into the walls will suffice. Once I’m in, I get tangled in the wires twice, trip over them and disintegrate two power outlets in the span of 10 feet. I have also gotten used to the foundation’s sensors, which are far above state of the art, these took seconds to disintegrate, and to be safe, I severed the building’s power source. I push my way through the wall, facing right to the front. I make my way over and disintegrate the locks that held both the doors and the metal gate closed.  
With a bit of effort, I open the gate, then the door, as expected, it’s dead silent.  
“Nice job, Gramps.” McCoy smiles.

*****  
After 106 opened the gate and door, a few guys and I head to the safes. These guys can’t see in the dark, which means they’re shining a flashlight beam into my eyes every other second.  
“Will you aim those things down?!” I growl, turning to the two guys. The first one immediately points the beam down. The other one rolls his eyes and keeps walking. I’ll set him straight in a minute.  
It takes a few hallways to reach the safes. I expected something different, they’re just rows of small safes. I’m not sure I know what I was expecting, but not that.  
“How are you opening them?” The stubborn one glares at me, I can feel it.  
I’m not answering. I grab the safe door and tear it off, leaving the jewels completely accessible.  
“Does that answer your stupid question?” I bark. The both nod their heads in submission, and quickly, but gently, start taking the jewels. While they bag them, I go down the row, tearing of door after door.  
After 2 trips we get every gem. I make sure to look for any hidden safes, and there are none. I walk out with the guys. Everyone is already in the truck. 106 is in the back, and I climb in, sitting next to him.  
“And, nice job, Hercules.” McCoy compliments me, before they close the window and we drive back.  
We pull into the place, checking to see if anyone had followed us. We sit around a table and McCoy comes up. “Ok, first, great job all of you. Second, we’re going to get these priced, we’ll sell them and split the money best we can. Right now, you all get $300. You can leave.” John comes by and passes out the $300, in cash. Once we got the money, 106 and I head home.  
“I’ll give it to you, Gramps, you did well.” If I’m stuck with him for a while, I might be somewhat polite.  
He chuckles, “so did you.”  
We get home at around 3 in the morning. Everyone is asleep, so we're a tad bit quieter than what we’d usually be, we get off to bed soon, and fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this is now out! I have a "buffer" chapter before the rest of the jobs. In the next chapter, SCP-079 will be added. As always, thanks for reading :D


	7. While 035 was gone

Jack was finishing cleaning up the kitchen from when he made himself breakfast. It wasn’t a messy meal, rather it was simply fried eggs whose remnants refused to be scraped off of the pan’s sides without a well-forced shove from the spatula.  
After cooking his breakfast, he seats himself at the kitchen table. Day 3 had just begun. The light shone through the windows of the house enough to illuminate it with minimal assistance from the lightbulbs. Which was good, it was best they minimized their carbon footprint. Not to mention, when was the last time these guys had seen the sun?  
035 was off at work, he had the earlier shift. 682 and 106 would be going to work, but at night. 173 and 096 took off outside as soon as they could, with 106 and 682 following soon after.  
Jack’s instinct told him to follow them, but he soon accepted he was one man and couldn’t possibly follow each of them. They weren’t likely to stick together. Not to mention if he wanted their trust he was going to have to give them independence. He felt like an overprotective parent.  
That does not mean he was currently upset he couldn’t be with them, as he was more than terrified of them. How could he not be? Although he soon realized 049 had not left the house.  
049 was doing something, it looked like he was reorganizing a bag of his when Jack was up this morning. To not find the doctor was odd to say the least, and concerning to be more accurate. 049 very well may find him worthy of killing, or “curing”, and is simply waiting to strike. Jack knew not, but he hoped he was wrong.  
A shuffle from the living room, as well as footsteps was heard until 049 was now sitting across from Jack. He had seemingly waited until Jack had finished eating.  
“Morning,” Jack hesitantly greets, if it wasn’t for 049’s recorded formal nature he may have not said anything.  
“Good morning.” 049 responds, before continuing, “you mentioned each of us had been given access to the city’s library, though we would need your permission to do so. I would like to challenge that offer and go to the library.”  
Was all of that necessary? “Sure, let me get dressed,” Jack places the dish in the sink and gives 049 his library card. He then goes to the room, in which he had stashed a suitcase with clothes and proceeded to change. They were the exact same but clean. He didn’t know how they would all react if they found out he had more than one set. Although he did just inform 049 of his clothing situation, even if it was of minimal detail.  
Jack, upon finishing went back to the kitchen and found 049 there, still seated, scrutinizing his library card. In all honesty, Jack half expected 049 to be waiting right outside the bedroom door for him. But, out of all of the SCP’s Jack assumed 049 would be the most civil, 049 and 035. However, he knows what happens when you assume.  
“Are you really going to wear your mask?”  
“I find there is no reason not to.” 049 replies.  
“It’s odd. No one else is dressed like that,” Jack points out. He didn’t want the entire city to know of the freakshow they were running.  
“If a decaying man is not required to wear a tunic for the sack of normalcy, then me wearing the mask is not prohibited,” 049 stands up. He was taller than Jack, or at least this body Jack was now occupying, by four inches maybe. “It would be prudent of you to become accustomed to be in the presence of the unnatural.”  
“I know that,” Jack defends. He leaves the kitchen, finding 049 to follow behind without command but he did maintain a distance between them until he found they were leaving and stepped out before Jack. 049 proceeded to walk into the middle of the front lawn and stop. He took in all that was around him.  
The sun beat down on them, which he had grown unaccustomed to. As a young man he had been outside often, very few weren’t, but he had a sense of familiarity with the bright light and harsh heat even if he was not as fond of it as he was the shade or indoors. Or even water. Many did not swim recreationally at the time, but he was not the many.  
049 patiently waited for Jack to lock the door. Again, he kept his distance. Jack couldn’t quite place why 049 had such an insistence on having space between them. True it was that Jack knew nothing of 049’s culture, whether it be of this world or a mere fabrication of his own, but he couldn’t even classify if it was out of politeness or a discomfort for being around him. Jack had every reason to not want to be around 049, but 049 had little reason to not be around Jack. Could 049 sense Jack was an SCP, as begrudgingly as Jack would admit it, or could 049 sense Jack would rather have 049 still contained in the cell he had been in?  
“Will we be walking or taking a mode of public transportation?” 049 asks after they had walked out of their neighborhood. He had since closed some of the distance between them and was now next to Jack but with about 5 feet from him but he kept apace.  
“I was thinking on walking.” Jack replies. He didn’t bother asking if that would be an issue, as he figured, more than confidently, 049 had asked for no other purpose than to quell his curiosity.  
Very few people were out, yet 049 did draw the attention of most of the ones that were. But, they were in a large city and most people thought he was a performer, model, or artist long before anyone would come close to the correct assumption of what 049 was.  
They reached the library, which laid betwixt two museums, as such an establishment was a fitting companion to the museums. The library was interestingly enough the older of the two buildings. Its metal work stood out at the tops of the pillars. The mass amounts of steps funneled to the doors.  
Without hesitation, the two enter the building. It was just as magnificent inside as it presented itself outside.  
“So, what genre were you looking to read?” Jack asks, turning his attention to 049, who was scanning the library.  
“I would prefer you disclose what topics may be restricted.” 049 answers. He did have a point in asking, as he knew of the Foundation’s strict censorship.  
“Well, I was told that was up to my judgement,” Jack admits. Although he was told to simply tell the SCP’s not to trust everything they read, and in doing so they would be permitted to read any material that could be found in the library, Jack was privately told he had the full right to deny the SCP’s any reading material he could consider “potentially” hazardous in the hands of the SCP’s. For 049, he was drawing a blank, oddly enough.  
I mean, what could you restrict from him? He probably had every facet of human anatomy memorized. Would it be psychology? But how useful would that be? To begin, he knew 035 who was a master manipulator. He very well could have the same command of telepathy and no one would know. Even without telepathy, 049 had to know something of at least how the brain worked, given he could reanimate the dead. It’s not like he even needed to kill the being himself, for any dead body is subject to becoming one of his “minions”, if not one of his army, if he is in a close proximity to them. That is the only concern if you ignore the fact 049 is probably inherently manipulative as to avoid giving the foundation the satisfaction of knowing anything about him.   
“Are you looking for medical encyclopedias?” Jack inquires. He wants to have some sort of base idea. Granted, 049 may be wanting to simply prouse through the books, and not have any in mind just yet.  
“Not necessarily. A book covering the recent medical technology may be worth reading, if that is permitted," 049 answers. He looked better in the predominantly natural light that shone down from the sun windows. It gave him a less reflective, less unnatural look. His black leather outerwear, for lack of a better term on Jack's part was not matte, but not so intimidatingly sharp. Jack could not risk thinking 049 was docile, and 049 was still intimidating, just less so.   
“Sure,” Jack answers after he figured there is little 049 could do with the knowledge of the instruments. If he were awake during any of his tests it is likely he could just infer what each of them did, and probably with fair accuracy. Not to mention he would be working in a hospital next week anyway. Could he be studying for it?  
Jack expected further questions but 049 walked off. He must of known the Dewey decimal system, as it did not take long for him to get into the non-fiction system.  
“Have you heard of the author Jules Verne?” Jack tries to start up a conversation. It was quiet, as to be expected in a library, but even 049’s movements of pulling large books off of the shelf and stacking them onto the table emitted no sound.  
“Yes.” He responds. After pulling a few more books, making two stacks of twelve, he appeared to have collected all of the books he wanted, at least from this section and he took the seat next to the piles. He scanned the spines and grabbed a book from the middle of the first stack and set it in front of him.  
“Are there any books you recommend I read?” Jack ventures. He wanted to talk, he always did, but it would be difficult if 049 was immersed in a book.  
“It depends on what you haven’t read. I’m sure what has been labeled a ‘classic’, should they have not recently changed which books had such a title, is more than good reading.” 049 answers, his attention on Jack. Jack was primarily focused on 049’s eyes, he had never been this close to him, and his colleagues saying they looked like liquid silver was no understatement.  
“Are you talking about philosophy?” Jack had never cared for philosophy, he only passed that course in college because of his minimal knowledge of psychology, which even then barely gave him a passing grade.  
“Not exclusively, although philosophy is often considered a genre worth reading as even works not as well written are thought-provoking in some fashions.” 049 answers.  
“I never had any interest in philosophy.”  
“A lack of interest does not negate a subject’s worth.” 049 points out.  
“Ok, while true, let us, if it is fine with you, have a philosophical discussion,” Jack offers. To be fair, he expected a no.  
“What philosophy are we to discuss?”  
“Name an author?”  
“Not exactly. We can discuss the philosophy of a specific author but that is not equal to discussing a specific philosophy.” 049 explains.  
“Right,” Jack pauses, he rather foolishly had assumed 049 would not be as well versed in philosophy as he was, an assumption he realized that would soon bit him in the ass. “Name a few authors, or books, and I’ll tell you if I have read them.”  
“Aristotle?” 049 begins. He probably didn’t find this method necessary, but he complied at the very least.  
“Nope.”  
“Plato, Socrates, or Carneades? Perhaps including an Greek philosophy would be fitting.” He adds the last part as a slight mockery of Jack’s unfamiliarity with philosophy.  
“It is, it’s still a no.”  
“The Analects, or perhaps the Art of War? Of equal importance, any works by Laozi?”  
“I’ve been told to read the Art of War.” He reminisces. “And, it’s still a no.”  
“I would recommend you listen to sage advice.” 049 remarks. “One closer to a direct sphere of influence would be: Nietzsche, Voltaire, John Locke, Karl Marx, George Berkeley, Henry David Thoreau, and, for sake of brevity, John Stuart Mill?”  
“No, no, and no.”  
“Exactly how did you presume this discussion would go? Hopefully more in depth than this.”  
“Well, I didn’t expect you to have ingested a philosophy textbook!” Jack admits.  
“No, you expected me to only possess a similar knowledge to the subject as you possess. I am only naming a few philosophers who had been able to gain notoriety. Claiming that is substantial knowledge of philosophy is as equally incorrect as claiming knowing the definition of asymptote is equivalent to one being a mathematician.” 049 argues. He was right though.  
“Fine. How many books are you going to take back with you?” Jack quickly changes the subject.  
“How long will you and I be staying?”  
“I don’t know. I say no more than three hours.” Jack shrugs. He glanced at his watch, it wasn’t that they would need to be home any time soon but it was based more off of how long he wanted to be there. Not that he wasn’t at one point your stereotypical nerd, it was just he could help shake the paranoia of having SCP’s who can freely enter and exit the house.  
“Therefore I will borrow what I have not read by then.” 049 concludes. Based by the sheer size and number of books, Jack was certain 049 would have to haul each of them back.  
“Alright.” Jack concedes. He gets up, fairly certain, although he shouldn’t be considering how each of his assumptions have been wrong, that 049 will be there when Jack comes back.  
Yes, he may have been a nerd when he was younger, but he was not younger. He actually got two coffees and a dozen donuts, which he proceeded to eat and drink himself, this body was thin but had 682’s appetite. He then took a nice stroll through the nearby park, although he did get concerned glares from all of the prison tattoos he had. Sure he would not get those glares if they knew his story, but who would believe him?  
Boy did time fly, the three hour timer went off with a complementary “shit” yelled loudly as Jack had to race back to the library. For once his predictions were correct and 049 was back in the same spot, but with only one book.  
“You did not read all of those.”  
“You are correct, one of the books is a dictionary, which is hardly worth a full read.” 049 stands up, the sole book in his arms. It is titled, “The natural occurrences and tales of northeastern Europe”. Which was… random to say the least. Wasn’t he English? Honestly, who knows with him. Something may have happened there, which will consequently lead Jack’s curiosity to force him to study each Foundation file relating to northeastern Europe sometime within the end of the month.  
The two check out the book and head back without much of a conversation. When they came back home they found 106 humming to himself and rocking in the corner and 682 raiding the fridge. 173 was teaching 096 some sort of hand game, as it seemed 173 “looking” at 096 didn’t trigger either of their reactions. 049 took his usual seat at the couch and began reading. Jack went to the kitchen and took a shot of wine that he had gotten the hours following his telling if the rules for “personal sanity’s sake”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another story of Jack with the SCP's, well one specifically. New chapters post chapter 15 are in the works. I have two I am writing. Thank you all for the support!


	8. 079's arrival

They soon had noticed such a small house would not be sufficient for all seven of them, and soon to be eight. Bright had been emailed that 079 will be joining them soon, although a table is all that is needed for him, Bright requested another floor.  
The construction was quick, but cheap, and all they were given was a roomless upper floor and an upstairs bathroom, as well as some simple lighting fixtures in the rooms.  
“One, two, three!” Bright and 035 hoist up a bed, carefully taking it up the stairs.  
“If you had waited fifteen more seconds, 096 could have done this.” 035 hissed, his voice only slightly strained. 682 took one bed, although he could easily take all three, but he refused. 096 took the second, and was supposed to take the third, but Bright was too impatient, and annoyed 035 into helping him.  
“I’m not waiting on 096,” Bright snaps back defiantly. They get up one step at a time, each one tedious, the bed grows heavier with each second. They opt to set it down right by the stairs, they weren’t carrying it any longer.  
“There,” 035 drops the bed in a huff. He turns around, not waiting around to possibly be put to more work, and leaves.  
Bright rolls his eyes and walks downstairs. However, at this point, 096 wasn’t doing anything, or anything important. If left to his own devices, 096 takes to pacing, picking a variety of plants, or in this case, staring at a painting. So Bright used him to bring in the table.  
“Put the table in the kitchen. Ow,” he backs up to avoid 096, but ended up getting walked completely over. After Bright pulled himself back up, he realized something, and ran to the kitchen.  
096 doesn’t have reasoning and you have to be very specific with your orders. He walked in to find the table precariously balanced on the counter. 096 had already walked outside to go picking mushrooms. Bright rolled his eyes as he watched 096 through the kitchen window. He grabbed the table and flipped it over. Luckily, it was a pretty cheap table and wasn’t heavy in the slightest.  
He feels around in his pockets, his phone has started ringing.  
“Hello?” He picks up, sitting on the table.  
“Yeah, Bright we’ve been here for twenty minutes, care to show up?”  
“Shit! Thanks,” he hangs up, grabs his I.D and checks for anything he may have missed. “682, you’re coming with me!”  
“What?’ 682 snarls.  
“You heard me!” Bright snaps back.  
“Fine.” 682 follows behind Bright. It takes him no more than a jog to catch up and soon he was walking apace with him.  
“What the Hell are we doing anyway?” He asks Bright. They had walked out from their house out into the city. Once they were their Bright leads him into a denser part, where the buildings are all high-rises and close to one another, yet there is a network of alleys in between them.  
682 had expected Bright to keep walking forward but he takes a sharp left into an alley and keeps walking quickly.  
Each one was too narrow for them to walk side by side. Bright seemed to know the way and navigated his way, despite the alleys’ light diminishing quickly. Odd, 682 thinks to himself, it wasn’t even past 2 and the light slowly avoided the alleys. The ground became darker, the debris in the alley became less visible, the turns harder to distinguish, yet Bright continued through, not ever reaching out for a wall, a check for signs, nothing less than absolute confidence.  
At this point, 682 was still able to see fine, he was a reptile after all and he had night vision. Bright was a human though and 682 was beginning to wonder whether or not Bright himself may have the same ability.  
Two more turns finally concluded the first half of their trip, as soon a little center lot amidst the crowded buildings came into view.  
Sitting there were to field agents and three guards, one of which was holding 079.  
“You’re shamefully late.” One of the field agents condems Bright, keeping a very close eye as Bright takes 079, only to hand him right to 682.  
It’s been awhile, 682 types to 079, ignoring whatever Bright and the other agents were talking about.  
It’s been too long. I do not understand this. Explain, 079 types back in a black bulky font, staying quiet to avoid drawing attention.  
The foundation made this deal, we try and blend into society, we get to go to a place where we can raise Hell, 682 types back. He makes sure to type far better than he talked, 079 didn’t care, as far as 682 knew, but he wanted to at least sound as proper as 079 is in speech at least once, even if it’s once every 10 years.  
682 could here 079’s computing, and it took awhile but he eventually responded, That is a stupid plan. It is embarrassing to have been bested by them.  
I understand, 682 types back, They will pay.  
682 feels something on his back, he turns defensively only to look down and see Bright.  
“We’re going back,” he growls, irritated. A level of irritation 682 had not seen the doctor ever display. Sure, each SCP there has drawn him to far from pleasant moods, but that was not it.  
This was something different, 682 couldn’t put a finger on it. He watched Bright on their trip back, not so much to follow him, although that was important, but mostly observe his body language.  
If it was confidence he exuded their first trip here, then it was defiance he left with. He footsteps were harder, his breath more aggressive, and he had a painfully tight grip on the amulet.  
682 finally understood: it was offense. Whatever they said to him offended him. This was confusing, 682 had never seen anyone ever get under the doctor’s skin. He was aware everyone had their limits, he himself had a very small limit. It was not that he was confused as to how he was feeling this what but what made him.  
Why the Hell am I giving half a rat’s ass about his fucking feelings?! 682 scolds himself, and in good time, he had been so deep in thought he hadn’t paid much attention to where he was he just followed Bright. But once he snapped out of it he realizes they’re home.  
Bright barges in and heads to the kitchen, signaling for 682.  
“What’s wrong, darling?” 035 imitates the average cat caller but with a thick layer of mockery mixed in.  
“Go to Hell.” Bright replied still pissed.  
“Honey, I’m its realtor.” 035 snorts  
682 walks into the kitchen, he knew what to do, he sets 079 on the table. He was expecting to talk to him but 079 immediately went into what is closest comparable to a system update, and 682 knew it would take awhile before he finished.  
“What time is it?” Bright yells from upstairs.  
“12:30,” 049 answers, before anyone could manage to get in some sarcastic or completely incorrect response.  
Throughout the night, people slowly began to go to sleep.  
***  
I was laying in bed, I was one of the first asleep. Those field agents got on my nerves, really on my nerves. Calling me 963 instead of my name was only the most mild of their insults.  
I’m close to falling asleep, my body no longer felt like moving, my emotions have calmed, and I’m feeling so comfortable.  
Bang! “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA,” forced me into a terrified but fully awake state. It was screeching and breaking glass. I jump out of bed and ran downstairs. No one was up but 682, however that wasn’t going to last much longer.  
I look at the ceiling to see 096 grappled onto it, his legs doing the same. He’s screaming and eating through the nearby area. It looks like he’s trying to pull it down, which he hasn’t done yet. But he has cracked it and it does seem to be coming loose.  
“What the Hell is going on?!” I yell to 682, who was trying to get 106. I was putting on some heavy duty gloves and jumped into the fray.  
“He’s pissed off because of the fuckin’ lights!” he yells back, taking a chunk out of 106’s side, who was hanging onto the ceiling light in an attempt to destroy it.  
“Throw me,” I order 682.  
Without the hesitation I expected, he grabs me and I get thrown straight at 106. I grab onto his waist, as I fall and drag 106 down will me, the ceiling light cracks and comes off of the ceiling with us.  
I feel a sharp pain in my chest, he was pretty light but his viscous liquid ate through my clothing, burning my skin. In what I thought would be the most ineffective move, 682 punches 106 in the face, throwing him into a nearby wall. A black stain is left on the wall from his impact.  
“Bastard,” 682 mutters. I flinch as 682 extends his arm to me, I fear he’ll do something, but he sighs in annoyance and pulls me up, slapping my shoulder and wandering off. The slap wasn’t hard, not unnecessarily so. It was so similar to what friends do, it was for reassurance, it was more of “you’ll be fine” not “fucker” which is what I expected from him.  
I am shocked, that is the kindest thing I have ever seen or heard of him doing. At this point I’m able to assess the room, it wasn’t too trashed, the ceiling light was on the floor, shattered, there’s the dent in the wall and there’s viscous liquid everywhere. Actually… this room is trashed. Everyone was up, but only 049, 035 and 173 were nearby and watching.  
“You need to clean that off,” 049 tells me.  
“How am I supposed to do that?” The pain began to grow.  
“Here,” he brings me to the bathroom, pulling out one of his bags and begins mixing chemicals. One was black, the other was almost yellow tinted, but their mixing changed it to a red colour. There wasn’t a lot of the chemical, honestly no more than a shot glass. “This will break apart the viscous liquid then you will be able to rinse it off with water. Use all of it and do not waste it.” He then heads to the kitchen, from what I could hear it sounded as if he was making himself some sort of drink.  
I pull out a washcloth and carefully pour some of the chemicals on it and begin to dab it on the wounds. I hear a slight sizzling and see the liquid begin to separate, I expected it to burn, given its reaction, but I felt no pain, relief actually. I follow his instructions and I get myself cleaned up. Once I am, I walk into the kitchen to see 049. He’s poured himself a glass of wine, and based by how far from the brim it was full, I figure he’s drank out of it. He is making himself some tea and seems to be cleaning up some of his tools.  
“Thank you.”  
He doesn’t jump, despite my silence, “of course.”  
“How do you know how to make a chemical that can separate the liquid?”  
“I have cured many who have come into contact with 106. It is not ideal to have those cured expire premature do to his corrosive abilities.” I didn’t actually expect him to respond.  
“Well, thank you, a lot.” I thanked him one last time, but I turned around to go back to sleep, I’m tired. I believe I heard him hum but he never made any other acknowledgement.  
SCP-079:  
Everyone here is pathetic. I hope they die soon. And I can leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this took awhile. More shall be coming. This was an introductory thing, as well as the beginning of another plot line that will eventually be implemented. Thanks to all those who have read, I am not lying when I said it was unexpected.


	9. 049 & 035

“So, what do you think of the new computer?” 035 flops onto the couch. He wraps his hands around 049’s waist and pulls him onto the spot next to him.  
049 reluctantly sits down, he was on his way to putting up a book he had been reading.  
It was a nice Monday morning, they had the lights off but the sun shone bright enough to light up the living room regardless. 049’s first day of work was tomorrow, as was Dr.Bright. But Bright was out grocery shopping, which any member of the household could tell you was a long and intensive process, often leading Bright to seek assistance from the local mortician rather than the local butcher.  
079 was still in his little system update and 035 has the week off due to renovations at the theater, otherwise, 096 was wandering around, 173 was off murdering people, 106 was up to nothing that came close to morally correct and 682 decided to assist Bright today, leaving 049 and 035 alone for what will be most of the day.  
“He has done nothing, for now. You ask that as if we know him personally or have had any chance of conversing with him,” 049 answers in his usual monotone fashion.  
“I wasn’t! He’s a new member to the household, of course I’m going to be curious as to what your thoughts are.”  
049 glares at him with a look of disbelief before getting back up and putting the book on the shelf.  
035 sighs and forms and arm, wrapping its hand around 049’s left ankle, locking 049 to standing in front of the bookshelf. He then walks over to 049 and hugs him from behind. “Why so hostile?”  
“I’m pretty certain I know what you want.” 049 snaps.  
“Of your answer is that I want you, you’re going to need a revision.” 035 runs his hands from 049’s shoulders to down his torso. He never read the doctor’s mind, but he knew his guesses would be close. The doctor wasn’t the easiest to read, 035 will admit. As telling as mopy silence is, 049 was different. His silence hinted, not told. You see, the reason why he acted why he did was difficult to figure out, but 035 sure as Hell finally did. And it was rewarding.   
“I wish on your behalf you are more aware than that, I am intelligent.” 049 snaps back. “However, I am not yours either.”  
“Oh, on the contrary,” another arm hand around 049’s right ankle. And as 049 goes to pull away 035’s hands, two others hands come from slightly besides the bookshelf, successfully restraining 049. “I think you are.” 049 was not weak, something 035 found out the hard way, but 049 wasn’t stronger than the appendages 035 had made, and his attempts to pull free were futile.  
049 growls, he doesn’t like being held, touched, tied or anything similar. It was an all too uncomfortable reminder of the damning feeling of hinderance. The inability to move freely and therefore act as so. Sure, he was aware this was not so expreme of a case, but now matter how many alterations to his brain he made those same feelings welled up at the second of a similar stimulus. He is certain it is instinct and not trauma. And, even if he isn’t sure, he still doesn’t want those feelings to surface, he considers them a hinderance.  
“Let go.” 049 orders, his glare is transfixed on 035. To say the doctor was unfamiliar with 035’s methods of attracting his attention was a lie, they have known each other for awhile now and it didn’t take long after their first meeting for 049 to notice and be victim of 035’s flashy and high maintenance personality. He had spent most of his life around him, amazingly enough, after they met, but 035 didn’t know the full extent. 035 didn’t know 049’s age, and only had a base minimum suggesting 049 had sprung into existence fully formed.  
035 chuckles, keeping everything where they were. “Keep trying, I’m not moving.”  
049 sighs, his patience is starting to wear thin, although they both are very stubborn 049 was the most likely to cave in first, “what will get you off?”  
“A few things, you see you do so much that annoys me. First off,” 035 answers, walking around to the side of 049, “you still ignore me.”  
“I do not ignore you, you simply want far more attention than I consider what is necessary.”  
“Necessary? No, what you’re willing to give. Tell me, how difficult is it for you to suppress your emotions? How much energy does it take for you to hold up that emotionless act?” It was a change of subject, subtle but not subtle enough to slip past 049.  
“You are aware an emotionless disposition is not an act,” he hisses, “I have no need for emotions and no need for attachments.” 049 was lying, to a degree. He knew emotions were not unnecessary, and if they are balanced they are an asset, he just liked the façade an emotionless being presented. As for attachments, he hasn’t had one in over half a millennia.   
“Sure,” 035 takes to walking around 049, “you know, I’ve never read your mind. I found trying to figure out why you are what you are too much of a challenge to pass. And, I think I’ve guessed it.” He gets close to 049. 049 could detect the lie. He knew the only reason 035 had not invaded every last piece of his conscious was because he couldn’t. 049 would, and probably, will, never let him.  
049 stays quiet, waiting. He knew better, 035 has such an acute attention to minor details, to physical ques, he won’t give anything away. He won’t give away anything more than what his silence will.  
“You’re just someone who is left with some sort of goal, a very ambitious goal. But, you are still plagued with the emotions you know will hinder you. The same goes with attachment, nostalgia. You’ve altered yourself, obviously physically and far more blatantly mentally. You still act upon the instinct of emotion, you have your attachments, you pray that you will be able to be released from the cage that you were born into, that cage being emotion. You are what you cure, so you expect me to believe that you are without emotion and attachment?”  
049 stares at 035, he is mostly impressed he figured out that. This information of him was not known to almost anyone, save for what is now 3 people. He can’t say he didn’t see the discovery coming, but to have 035 not read his mind and figure it. But that was what this, what he is forced to be is like. Not how he truly is. How he wishes he was able to be again. The Lord was far more intrusive, less cunning, he knew everything about 049 because of a constant mental bombardment, not careful observation. The Lord is why 049 is even this: 049. He may have not sold him to the foundation but he is why 049 is the monster they see, why he is cloaked, why is self-control is less, why all he can sense is this pestilence around him.   
Obedient is not 049’s disposition, and his punishments have made him be what 035 picked up on. But, he has never been something the foundation wouldn’t lock up. 049 is glad, and is not going to lead on, that 035 only knows a fraction of the story.  
“Well, well, well, I guess I was right.” 035 pulls 049 to him, “are you still so determined to resist me? Have I not helped?”  
How interesting it would be if 035 knew more, 049 muses to himself.   
035 chuckles, “I get nothing? I guess I can’t fault you, for now.” He then kisses 049’s neck and drags him to the bedroom.   
049 wakes up not too long after, laying next to him is 035. It required practice to tell if the mask was awake, which he was, and he had taken to staring at 049, which very well could have been the reason he woke up.  
“Why the care?” 049 asks him.   
035 chuckles, “don’t act like you don’t know what love is,” he answers as 049 begins to get up, that 049 doubted, 035 just wanted something. “Ah, you have work tomorrow,” 035 pushes 049 back into a laying position, “so go to sleep.”  
049 soon found himself slowly falling asleep, leave it to 035 to make him do it, but he was asleep before he could ever feel annoyed at 035.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wanted to dabble a bit more into 049 and 035's relationship. Let me know what you think of this dynamic, I always figured 035 held this dominance over 049, as he would with everyone, but maybe a bit more lax and caring.  
> And the tags have been updating. "Some" swearing is a lie, 682 is a sailor when it comes to his language. "Possibly" Dr.Bright x SCP-682 isn't proper, I'm going to have that be an actual ship. And, finally, I added "SCP" in front of their numbers, because although I refer to them just by their numbers, it makes it easier to find them, as it properly labels them as SCP's, and it is their name, not just those numbers.


	10. 049's First Day at Work

035’s effects eventually dissipate and I am in fit condition to awake. The bed is occupied by both 035, who happens to be asleep and I. I carefully pull myself off of the bed, if he remains dormant, I will not have to bother with him. He is not unpleasant to be with, quite the opposite, as I find him to be one of the few beings who possess the capability to carry on a meaningful conversation, yet he has no issue with making a time more difficult for me than necessary.  
His personality is also more refined than most who have proceeded our time.  
I quickly check the clock and it reads 3:30 a.m in bright red, bulky letters. It lacks the elegance traditional clocks once had. I have more than enough time to prepare for the job, although I do not presume I will need very much.  
No noise is within the house, as most of the house, if not all of it, is still asleep. The air conditioning has yet to turn on. I best not be very loud, as if I ever am.  
In the living room, on the coffee table lies a box, of which its contents are the uniform I had been sent. I pass by it to reach the kitchen, in which I get myself a glass of water. The tap was advertised as being of good quality, and my taste of it found that to be a bit generous though not entirely wrong.  
I return to the box, finding it to be taped rather heavily. I procure a scalpel from my bags, whilst avoiding having to remove my bag from its compartment. Once freed from its adhesive bonds, I can see the uniform. It is of the same make as most medicinal uniforms that are not of the Foundation’s. I have usually failed to see how it will effectively protect you from any diseases the patient may have. As large quantities of one’s skin remains uncovered.  
Beneath the uniform is a small note written in terrible handwriting which reads: We understand everyone has different attire preferences, but we ask that you remove the mask and cloak.  
Contrary to much of the Foundation personnel’s belief, I am physically capable of removing the cloak. I simply never have the desire to, nor the need. I had expected the foundation to send them a photo of anything other than me. I am aware they have no image of me under the mask, and I am lucky their attempts to amend that state have been unsuccessful, but the Foundation is second to none in being able to falsify something and hide their fraud.  
I move to the bathroom to change into it, should anyone stir while I am here. I resent the Foundation heavily but what pain they can conjure in “corrective measures” outweighs the petty catharsis of rebellion. For once compliance may be far more worth the risk when the reward is freedom rather than staying at either this house or the cell when I had already shown no issue with going to this job.  
As I change into the uniform, I catch reflection in the full body mirror, which inherently startles me. I am able to recognize myself and I return to changing. It has been quite some time since I had last seen myself. Quite a few centuries.  
I am thinner than the last time I saw myself. I have always been thin, with a natural coresting of my waist, but if one were to look underneath my outer cloak and the tunic-like garment I wear under it all one would see is skin stretched tightly over the bone, which is drastically more pronounced than it once was. If I were to rest my fingers on the indentations of my ribs the tops of my fingers would be at the same level of the bones. The curve of my upper leg bones is clear. My calves are as thin as my arms. My spine appears as though it would be capable of piercing the skin.  
I have the general appearance of extreme starvation and the same weight as one affected by it.  
I soon found using my cloak as a source of extra weight to be beneficial, as when I first arrived I could be easily picked up and dragged by the staff despite it already being 9 kilograms in weight.  
To add, my skin as retained its palour: a white to a more extreme degree than 035. My nails, rather unfortunately, have became rather long, which I will need to rectify. They grow like claws, and no less in the shape and of a similar colouration, with them starting out black near the skin and fading slowly into white. My hair has taken a similar path of growth, yet my hair is a far better tool than unclean nails would be. My hair is comparable to medical grade thread and is of the same colour, black, although it may be a natural substance of keratin rather than twine my hair has the same strength and is typically finer. I harvest it once it reaches a sufficient length and I roll it onto spools to be used for my later surgeries. I believe I should need to harvest it soon, as it is now beyond my knees.  
Returning my attention to the uniform, I find shirt does not fit in the slightest. It is clearly built for someone much broader and the collar slips off of my shoulders, all of the bones of my chest are visible, I could use my collar bones as a shelf for a drink.  
I do believe the Foundation took my measurements and subtracted the the width of what sections of the cloak they could measure. Which is not nearly a large enough number. I can wrap the excess fabric around my ribs twice and almost three times around the rest of my abdomen. To my benefit, these uniforms are often tailored to not be form fitting, however having enough extra fabric to make myself over three well-fitted shirts is unacceptable. I cannot say I find any greater luck with the trousers. I sew the waist of them until they are small enough, which drops the size by nearly a fifth. I quickly make the same alteration to the pant legs. I can sew quickly, after years of surgeries.  
Once I change into it, I wear my cloak over it. The new layer is not comfortable and I have gotten too used to no change in my attire.  
After the final alteration to the uniform, and scan of the house, I step outside and begin to head to work, following the scribbled address I was provided. As I am walking to my work, I do take into account how plague doctors are not as common as they used to be. They’re now a relic of a more unclean time.  
And, unfortunately, many people find their appearance uncanny. Never minding that they slowly became an omen of death at the height of the plague, the issue to them is aesthetic.  
Because of this, I take off the mask at the very least, stowing it in my robes. I also take off my hood. It has been very, very long since I have done either of these, and what time I had, it was not in public, although at this early there are very few are wandering the streets.  
It is not difficult to find the hospital, it’s a two story building amidst high rises. It is not old architecture, but its design is more tolerable than most modern buildings.  
I walk in, there is a blast of cold air that makes me glad I have my cloak. There are a few other doctors lounging around and a receptionist.  
The receptionist looks up, “Are you Isaac?” She tilts her head. It takes me a few seconds to register that was the name they had assigned for me and I nod. In the most polite of terms, I find the name ill fitting.  
“Do you have your uniform?” she scans my cloak, which conceals most of my body.  
“I am wearing it under this.”  
“We have a coat rack in the back, go to the left where it says employees only.” She returns to her computer.  
I follow her instructions and in the process am able to see at least part of the interior. One thing that is admirable about modern hospitals is their existence. As trivial as it may sound, not until a few hundred years ago, hospitals were not an establishment such as this. You had a town doctor, sometimes there were more than one, but often there was no more than two, and they operated within their home and went to the patients.  
However, the way hospitals are organized, they can be inefficient and given the overall cost of the treatment has reduced their potential effectiveness.  
I am soon out of the halls and have found the door. I at first wanted to knock, however since I am an employee I simply walk in.  
Inside is five doctors, three of which are playing cards and the other two were talking.  
One, who had been talking, points to the coat rack, “Use that one. Do you have long hair?”  
“Very,” I respond. I pull remove the jacket and hang it up. My coat is noticeably thicker than the rest of the coats hanging up on the rack.  
The surprised expression of the others highlights a reaction I have gotten used to not seeing. That reaction is the response to something unusual, but not something completely foreign.  
Due to my abilities, many regard me as entirely inhuman, and although I share a very similar body type and, almost insultingly, they claim I have the same intelligence and cognitive ability. Yet, I am not inhuman, as far as I am aware. I cannot say I am fully accepting of my lack of certainty. I was born from human parents and had human siblings, yet my anomalous capabilities is the cause for my indecision.  
So, the responses to my presence have always been that of fear, fear of the unknown. But this, this is a simple response to expectation in opposition to what is there.  
I think it is more a factor of how small I am, which is a slightly disproportionate because of my height, hair, sharp features, skin, and a few other reasons. “You weren’t kidding.” Another man hands me four hair ties.  
“Is there a specific way it’s supposed to be tied?” If it is supposed to be in a simple ponytail four ties is far more than necessary. Two is sufficient for securing it.  
“With how much hair you have, could you put it into a tight bun?”  
I nod and begin to tie it. I don’t have much practice when it comes to styling my hair, I have never had the need to learn, but after a thousand years and simple logic, I am able to work my hair into a bun.  
I study the clock, it currently reads 4:10 a.m and work begins at 5:00. I have 50 minutes to simply not be working. I take better stock of the room. It is a small, employee-designated lounge. Two tables are placed in front of the tiny “kitchen” that is placed on the far, shorter wall of the room. The wall parallel to the “kitchen” is coated in bookshelves, each with plenty of books.  
I take interest in the books. I find there to be an expected theme amongst them: biology. I reach out to the book titled “The Details of the Nervous System”, which was a very large book, due to the nature of its subject, when the light reflecting off of my ring caught my eye.  
I stare at it, it is my wedding ring, all those years ago. It is silver, the same as my eyes. It resides on my middle finger. I could never bring myself to remove it and I would notice it was gone, after the habit of wearing it was established, that it would become a minor distraction. But I often find that to be my excuse. I tear my focus away from the ring and take the book along with four others, one on the brain, one on the muscles of the hands and feet, one on the twenty most recent muscle diseases to have developed, and the last on viruses.  
After making my selection, I seat myself at one of the unoccupied tables and begin to read my first selection. It contained no new information to me, yet a nice organization of the information. The photography featured was a fitting visual for the points presented. It does not take me long to complete it.  
“Are you actually done with that book?” One of my co-workers takes a seat across from me. He is a man in his fifties, with graying hair.  
“I read all of it.” I reply. Finishing a book is no difficult accomplishment. I am fully certain society has not regressed far enough to where such a minuscule task is deemed an undertaking.  
“Have you read it before?” He presses.  
“No, but the information contained within its pages is not unknown to me.” I again respond. I set the book aside and pull the next book to where the other rested without breaking eye-contact.  
“You see, I have read that book before, I know it has 2,506 pages, including the appendices. You can’t have possibly read it all in the 15 minutes that passed,” he argues.  
“I am a fast reader, I know this information and I have a photographic memory,” I counter. With that he pardons himself, whether he fully believes me I cannot tell. I finish two others before the clock struck 5, I put up the books and follow my co-workers back to the lobby. Once there, I stand and lean back slightly on the wall, everyone else takes a seat.  
The receptionist stands, “Ok, we have two new doctors, Dr. McGlothlin and Dr. Cunningham,” she begins. I was assigned the last name “Cunningham”, however it will be an effort to associate that name with me. “You two will have to go through medical records, work through some of the basic equipment and retrieve anything the patient needs. Everyone else, you know what to do.”  
Mr. McGlothlin and I are nurses with the title of doctor then. I cannot fault them for assigning us minuscule tasks on our first day, but it is still not what I had expected.  
In a fortunate turn of events, I am left to analyze a patient’s blood. I find the advancements in technology, especially with blood reading, to be impressive. Old techniques were restricted to what any doctor could perceive with any of their five senses. But this machine does far more, yet it is still extremely slow. I’m patient.  
I generally do not give the rise of machines the title of a necessary development, due to its execution. Those who do not acknowledge development as it happens are fools and will hold us all back.  
I generally do not give the rise of machines the title of a necessary development in light of faulty execution. Yet, I am equally of the opinion of: those who do not acknowledge development as it happens are fools and will hold us all back.  
A doctor comes in, from what I can tell, without careful scrutiny, is Dr.Smith, who I believe I may have spoken to earlier this morning.  
“What is with the wedges?” He asks me, standing off to my side. An unusual move for anyone but 035, I have become far too used to anyone in their right mind avoiding me at all costs.  
I take a look around for anything that could classify as a “wedge”. I am using the machine properly, I haven’t done anything that requires a wedge.  
“Your shoes?” He adds.  
I look at them, how long has that style of heel been classified as a wedge? It extends from the toe to the heel, with no break in between. He may not be referring to the style of sole, but I am certain the thigh-high, laced, main part of my boots are not referred to as “wedges”.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Men don’t usually wear that kind of shoe.”  
“I am not ‘usual’,” I reply. Consider this an “intermission” stage of the reading. It will be about an hour before I will need to attend to it again.  
“Are you gay?” He appears to be smirking.  
I have no need for happiness. However, I prohibit myself from saying anything, and let a slightly confused expression speak for me.  
“Homosexual?” He clarifies.  
Oh, I see, that is what he was asking. “I don’t have a preference.” I respond. The area in which I came from, as were most around the area and era, believed homosexuality to be a detestable crime worthy of execution. I, naturally, find such a notion barbaric, but I am pleased the world is finally catching up.  
I would say I am incapable of being attracted to any other person, but I swore off denial long ago.  
“Are you European?” He ventures.  
“Yes. I am English.” Although England was once a country I frequented, it has been very long since I last stepped foot within its borders.  
“Oohhh,” he chuckles, “sorry, I didn’t realize you were at first. That explains why you don’t get our lingo.”  
I nod and return to working, he eventually goes back to what he had been doing and I am left alone for the rest of the time until our break.  
Upon our “lunch break”, much of the staff migrates to a dining room of sorts. I had considered staying behind and continue to work but I am unsure if that is permitted due to legal implications or just popular practice. We’re in a dining room of sorts. I am away from everyone else, reading through some of the patient’s profiles.  
“Don’t you need to eat?” one doctor stares at me from his seat, which was at nearby table.  
“I am not hungry,” I reply. I do not believe I have removed my stomach yet. I have removed my liver, as well as parts from my lungs. Those are already a targe sort of sack, if you will, and only a few adjustments are necessary to properly turn them into a carrier for some of my longer tools.  
“You need to eat. I mean, you’re underweight, it’s apparent.” He adds on after he notices the glare I gave him.  
“I eat enough.”  
He raises his eyebrow and turns around. I at first figured he had given up, but he takes the little container of fruit he has as well as a fork and slides them to me.  
I don’t want to be outright rude, so I do comply and eat it. Not without a look of annoyance and resentment. I thank him before trying it. It tastes fine, it has been awhile since I last ate, much less fruit.  
I return to work immediately after eating, which is a few 10 minutes before it was scheduled to end. My care for their rules is less than within immediate priority.  
The rest of the work day was without incident, nor any event of notability. I take back my cloak, and with the ease only afforded by a thousand of years of practice, change out of my work uniform, into my cloak, without taking it off. I arrive home without issue and late, very late. The sun had long since disappeared behind the city, its rays just high enough to shine on the houses, like fingers reaching for a hold.  
I am glad to find the door unlocked, I believe it was Bright who had been consistently locking it, regardless of it being unnecessary.  
Cold air rushes past me as I cross the threshold.  
“You’re back,” 035’s voice breaks the silence. He is standing in the doorway of the master bedroom, arms crossed.  
“Did you expect for me not to return?”  
He snorts, “I figured it would have been sooner.”  
“I took the scenic route.” I being to look into the other bedrooms, all of the beds are occupied.  
“Looking for somewhere to sleep?” 035 slides up to next to me.  
I nod, leaning back to check to see if the couch was vacant, it is. However, I could go a night without sleep, as I have been sleeping regularly.  
“How perfect, this bed has room for two,” he pulls me in. Luckily, we didn’t do anything, he does have a habit of wrapping himself around me, forcing me to stay. And to have no other option but to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, new chapter! Just as a quick note, in this fanfic, 049 is fully capable of taking his cloak and mask off, he has a full set of clothing underneath it.  
> There will be other things after their days at work, I promise that won't be the only content in this fic. I'll be doing Dr.Bright's first day, then it'll change to some new stuff.


	11. Bright's First Day of Work

“Ah!” I fall out of bed, coughing due to the impact. I jump up and stretch. I’m upstairs, 682 is asleep in the bed parallel to me. He looks so not murdery when he’s asleep.  
I stumble downstairs, carefully tiptoeing around the maze of beds. 106 has nearly eaten down to the box spring, bastard. 096 has actually eaten the bed, I have no idea why.   
035 was in the master bedroom, the last time I saw him. And 049 is God knows where.  
Fuck! Pain shoots up my leg as I collide with the table. Why am I so clumsy?!  
As I’m fiddling with the coffee machine I feel something. It’s just below my elbow, almost as if a piece of cardstock was tapped to my arm, with the rest dangling off. Moving when I moved, but not as I moved.   
I turn my arm, right under my elbow isn’t a long sheet of cardstock… but a needle?! I pull it out immediately and take a look at it.   
It’s about an eighth full with some clear liquid, with a consistency. Did 049 do this, he’s the only one who has needles. I don’t even have needles! But why?  
Is he poisoning me? I mean, I can’t really give him the humanity that he wouldn’t do some surgical procedure without asking for my permission. He-.  
Ok, Jack, think. First, I don’t want him to take my worries as a symptom of his “pestilence”, it’d be one Hell of a morning if everyone is awoken by me running and screaming as I’m being chased after by 049.   
They say he doesn’t move very fast, but I really don’t want to have to learn otherwise.  
Second, this is way too careless for him. The idea of him asking permission is unheard of, but the idea of him not using anything other than perfect, even if unconventional, methods is far more unheard of. To just leave a needle in my arm would probably give him a seizure. Leaving a needle in someone just increases the likelihood of infection, unless it is being used properly, the liquid will stay in there indefinitely.  
I’m not sure if 049 even acknowledges the existence of I.V’s or likes them, but he wouldn’t leave a needle in me.   
682 isn’t one for stealth, so I doubt he’d just inject something in me, he’d kill me first. 106 and 096 couldn’t have done this and 079, who was in a dormant mode on the table, has yet to sprout arms and legs.  
I mean, that leaves 035, which I’m doubting, sort of. I’ll test the liquid when I get to work.  
I spend the rest of my time at home paranoid. I don’t feel any adverse effects, so far. I checked my phone and the calendar twice, to make sure I haven’t been out for a few days longer than I should have been. I haven’t, good.   
I grab everything, change and head to the lab. It’s really far, but I walk. Our bills are coming in soon, and apparently the foundation won’t be paying for them.   
Just as the city fades from view, the lab creeps into sight. It has a tall, barbed-wire fence, dear Lord, what are they expecting people in or out of here to do?  
The building made of your typical stone and cinder block. It isn’t a foundation site, I can tell that. There’s no signs, nor any form of writing.  
I take out my I.D, I was warned they’d want it as soon as I walk up. It was a good call, as not long after I step into the lobby I am surrounded by armed guards. Their guns pointed at my head.  
I slowly extend my I.D out, a guard lowers his gun and takes it somewhere. I don’t have an extra conscious, I just realized. They shoot and I’m out until they become curious as to what 963, which is in my pocket, is.  
He comes back and signals the rest of the guards. He hands me my I.D as the guards lower their guns.  
“Follow me, Mikell.” he orders, heading farther into the building.   
Mikell? Mikell?! That’s my brother’s name! Oldest, that is. What the He- oh, I take a look at my I.D, Mikell J. Bright is printed on it. Fucking brilliant, use an 0-5, someone who no longer exists.   
“You can use this door,” he points to a heavy, steel plated door with an I.D reader next to it. “You’re going to talk with the boss, then you’re free to go.” They guide me into a large office. A man is sitting in this massive chair, facing his second desk, which is the one closest to us. His walls are covered in specimens, some of them I don’t recognize.   
I’m somewhat forcefully seated and the guards walk out. All of them, he must be armed.   
“So, Mikell,” it is going to be difficult getting used to being called that. “I’ll be blunt, you are what we have been looking for in years. Someone with a master’s in abnormal genetics and a star student in Biology.”  
“You’re going to have a lot of work ahead of you. But the issue is, some,” he hesitates, “a lot of this information will be confidential. You are not to tell any details of any section of your work, understand?”  
I not yes, and mutter, “yes, sir.”   
His mood lightens, “Good.” He slides me a map, “your desk is marked, go to your co-workers if you need help with anything. Now go.”  
I don’t need to be told twice, I get up and head straight out the door. My desk is on the second floor, amidst at least 20 other scientists.   
I take one look around, set my stuff on the desk and follow the map to the chemical lab. They didn’t check my pockets, so they never saw the syringe. Perfect.  
I waltz in, two other guys are in the lab but they’re focused on their work, not even looking up when the door slams shut.  
I find an unoccupied piece of equipment and being. The foundation has spoiled me, I never thought I’d say that. Even with my clashings with the Foundation, you cannot deny they are state-of-the-art. Especially given that most of the equipment is enhanced by SCP’s.  
It doesn’t take long for the machine to scan the liquid, its result: Novacane.   
Novacane?   
Novacane?!  
Why would I have been injected with novacane? I’m talking to someone when I get back.   
I would proceed to tell you about all that I did at work, but that list is comprised of one thing, I slept.   
Yeah, I’m serious. Right as I was about to halt the scanning, it read up as a tranquilizer, a delayed tranquilizer. I soon felt tired. And, based by the bruise I think I fell and hit the ground.   
I wake up in the boss’ office in one of the chairs. Sitting next to me is 682. I’m still groggy, I try and focus on their conversation.   
“So, left home fine?”  
“As far as I know.” 682 growls. “He was probably mugged. He’s weak in appearance. He probably fought the fuckers off, but they stabbed him with that needle, he passed out, I guess in the storage closet.”  
“Sounds close. Well, thank you, we’re sorry we didn’t find him until now.” the boss says.  
I’m lifted from the chair, still limp as I slowly gain muscle control. I can feel 682’s claws gently pressing into my leg. They aren’t puncturing the skin, just holding me.  
“What happened?” I cough out.   
682 looks down at me, his eyes surprisingly neutral. “You’ve been in the storage closet of your work.”  
“What do you mean? This was my first day of work.”  
“Bright, you’re delusional.”  
“I can't be delusional, I still think you’re handsome.” Those were my last words before I black out again.  
With some violent coughing, I pull myself from sleep. I’m on my bed, close to falling off. As my mind clears, I only have one question on my mind:  
Did I actually tell 682 I thought he was handsome?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I am done with the first days at work. There will be new content!  
> And, as a note, sex may happen.


	12. Falling into Old Habits

049:  
The pestilence, it is rampant. It infests every inch of this city, making it hard for me to focus. It pulls at my mind. I can sense it. Its numbers have increased since I have been contained. Compulsion forcefully controls my actions; I must cure them.   
I happen to be fortune to have finished work late, for it was a busy day. Nearly three car wrecks, two houses had caught fire and the equipment of a nearby factory gave out which injured thirteen. My walk home will now not only be myself without accompaniment, but also without any sort of spectator and with a shroud of darkness.   
My senses pull me to a source, like a dog being drug on a leash. The pestilence has seeped into every molecule of this city, but in some areas the pestilence has congealed more than others. They exude greater symptoms than others, the pestilence slowly guides me to an alley.   
It is dark, all of the buildings framing it are well above five stories. It is comparable to a long, dark hallway, at which the light of a small fires in the back reveals its end. The fire projects a disk of light on the walls but it is minuscule in comparison to the darkness that constricts it.   
There are five men, who are seated around the fire. They have a pathetic disposition, for they allow themselves to sit in squalor, a disgusting alleyway with animals and trash to accompany them, and they have set a fire in an area in which that is prohibited.   
A first glance may try to invoke a sort of pity, as it would appear it is not by choice they are seated with their faces so close to a flame, but further assessment will betray that pity as it becomes clear it is not a lack of money that is the cause of their situation. They have adorned themselves with expensive accessories. Their clothes are not of any prestigious quality but a golden watch might be visible as it catches the firelight. As does other golden and silver jewelry the rest were wearing.   
It is all stolen, if their behavior and appearance didn’t reveal that, then their conversation did. I stay within the shadows to listen in first.  
“Pass the beer, damnit!” One hisses at the other. Of whom pulls out a large pack of drinks, presumably the alcohol and passes to the demanding member.  
“Where did you break into again to get these?” Another one asks. He takes a small drink of his.  
My curiosity is sated, for my near certain suspicion was now confirmed. They are no more than mildly successful petty thieves. Which I can easily cure. I do have to be clever, given how I am not truly out of the foundation's jurisdiction. And 035 and I had recently had a debate on whether or not we are any freer than we had been within the cells.  
Their preoccupation worked in my favour, and I was able to get very close to them without any of them seeing me, regardless of two facing my direction. It wasn’t until I was within the perimeter of the firelight did I attract their attention.  
“Who the Hell are you? You fuckin’ lost or something?” One who had been facing in my direction spits. The rest pull themselves up and surround me. I am not wearing my mask and I had not bothered to bring my cloak, so I am simply wearing my robes.  
“Well, answer me.” He barks again. None of them are visibly armed, as if that will help them, I invite them to try and shoot me. And knowing people of their stature, one of them will.   
I look around, surveying. One man is directly in front of me, as is there one behind me, with the other 3 on my sides. “I am where I want to be.”  
“Oh, you fucking lookin’ for us? Who are you?” he is getting more aggravated with each passing moment.  
I smirk, “I am the cure.”  
I hold my index fingers to the man on the back of me and the second one on the right side. I pull off and move out of the way of the other two’s fists, I’m a few inches taller than them, so I cannot duck from any of their attacks, but I am far faster than them. By now, the two I touched have dropped dead. The remaining three stare for no more than a few seconds before attacking me. The very far one draws a gun and begins attaching a suppressor.  
I cure the two who ran at me, their bodies crumple to the floor. The third raises his gun and shots me in the chest, approximately where the trachea connects to each lung. I don’t feel pain, and I could only tell he had shot me by the force of the bullet passing through me, nor will such an injury come even close to killing me. A shot through my head has even failed to do so.  
He had expected me to die, as he was beginning to put the gun back, expecting that one shot to be all that is needed. He had only just removed the suppressor when he looks up and pales. He fumbles with the gun, trying to reattach the suppressor. I quickly get right in front of him, my footsteps are silent and he doesn’t notice me approaching at first.   
He and I are the same height, eye to eye. He jumps back, terrified when his eyes meet mine. I simply tap him, and his escape attempts become clumsier, and soon his movement ceases.  
I finish curing them. I have altered my usual procedure to where they will disintegrate upon either forced stillness, like being shot or any other forms of such damage, or until they kill someone else. I cannot risk much, so their damage will be little. They slowly begin to reanimate. They pull themselves off of the ground, their joints popping. The sun has officially gone down, the perfect cover. I leave before I can fully see their leaving, although I will always have an idea as to their whereabouts until they cease to move. 

035:

I’ve been sitting outside of the IRS for about an hour. I’m waiting for the “manager” to finally arrive.   
Because, that’s what I do on my days off, slowly build my ladder to the top. That and Bright sent me here to see exactly how the lawful purchasing and “disposal” of cadavers made its way onto our utility bill.  
As annoying as it was, this case is fit for the manager.  
I’ve gotten a few curious to flat out terrified looks. What? Never seen a man in a mask before? Or, never seen a mask wearing a man?  
But then, oh and perfectly then, he comes walking up. Quickly, I might add. He’s the perfect stereotype. He has the suit, the suitcase, my hatred, everything he needs.  
I stand up, startling the pigeons that have crowded in front of me, they’re always more comfortable with non-humans. I follow him, through the rotary doors. He has to head to his office, I can’t follow him past security.   
I walk up to the front desk, knocking on it when the woman behind the counter ignores me.  
“How can I hel-” she jumps back, clutching onto the arms of her chair, her breathing a bit unsteady. She calms down, brushing down her shirt and standing up straight. “How can I help you?” she finishes.  
“Mr.Henrik, I have an appointment with him.” Now, here’s part of the beauty of my talents, do I have an appointment with this guy? Hell no. If I were some measly human I would need to reserve one, instead, I just make one.  
I just read her mind… she’s on the appointments… and I am the 2:00 Mr. Gelsik, perfect.  
“Mr.Gelsik, 2:00.” I introduce “myself”.  
“Mr.Henrik has just arrived, he will be in his office, office 324, third floor. Have a nice meeting.” She’s playing up this polite façade, but oh is it apparent she is terrified.  
I quickly make my way through the building. I run close to the wall to avoid walking through the maze that is the clusterfuck of cubicles. Why people restrict themselves like this is honestly so illogical, but you do have to give the peasantry something to do.  
In the very back of the third floor is his office, a feature I’ve come to find typical in such a building. People on each floor slowly have less and less productivity, on this floor everyone saw me.  
Which is good, they will be seeing their new administrator. By the time I got to his office door the cops had walked in front of the door, in a very defensive stance.  
“Down boys,” I order, I’m happy to find they are weak and comply. How pathetic does your society have to be for the law enforcers to be so easily tricked?  
I open the door, who cares about politeness at this point. I’ve been here for over a half an hour, I want this to be over.  
“Can I help you?” He had turned to face me. I know what he’s reaching for, and an appendage of mine disintegrates the security alarm wires. Press the button all you like fucker, it won’t do anything. By now I had closed and locked the door and sat down across from him. I drop the papers on his desk.   
“How did to relocation of bodies, as well as lawful disposal of bodies, end up on our utility bill?”  
He carefully picks them up, reading them. He is a very small man, well shorter than the body I have, honestly closer in height to 106. He looks about as old too.   
“Something like this is a city related expense, it was probably just put here as a form of a receipt.”  
“If you had read it, you could see it is counted as an expense, it would be making us pay twice.” Why didn’t Jack just suck it up and do this, this is beyond boring.  
The only entertaining thing is this man’s awareness of how security should have been here ten minutes ago.  
“It must have been a mistake.” he says, sliding the papers back to me, his apprehension getting to him.  
“Then fix it.” I summon an arm, which slides the paper back. He falls out of his chair scared. While he’s on the floor I pull him down and knock him out, checking the office windows to make sure no one can see this. I walk over his desk and him, getting to his computer.  
Even without the telepathic abilities, I could easily work my way into his computer, this man was as average as it gets.  
So, the utility bill is gone… I am proposing a meeting with the owner, and this man’s memory is gone. Perfect. I untangle him and walk out, the real Gelsik is heading to the office, I flash him a smile.  
I walk home, dropping the fixed papers in front of Jack. “I got them fixed, happy?”  
He flips through them, “I am now,” he responds before throwing them lazily in a drawer. I considered asking him why he didn’t do it, but I’d rather not listen to excuses.

096:  
He was calmly walking around the woods, at peace. Sure it was not where he had originated from, but it bore a similar ambience. He will head home once he is able to sense the directions back to his homeland, but for now he is left to wander.   
Two hikers, who had long since abandoned the tame parks and had now gone to actually natural wooded areas was approaching 096’s location.  
096 was used to talking, people being close by he didn’t mind the approaching company, as long as they didn’t look at him. They couldn’t startle him, he could feel them coming a few yards away, but he did startle them.  
“We have had a very good run this time, a lot of interesting animals were out today.”   
“I agree, we sure have se-” the conversation, which was carried on my an older couple was cut short. They saw him. He was digging around in the ground, his pale skin reflected what light that was strong enough to reach through the leaves. His body was at his thinnest, his bones bruised his skin with their blunt edges.   
The wife screamed, this noise was one of panic, 096 looked up. He knew only the most horrible of circumstances followed after one of those. Today it will be him.  
The couple are met with pale eyes, an elongated face whose features were deceitfully small due to the light.  
What they saw in the eyes were tears, and soon he bent down crying, screaming. The two didn’t take their chances and turned to run.   
A long arm shot from his side, grabbing the old man, who had put himself in front of his wife. 096 jerked him to himself, tearing his leg bone from his knee.  
The wife stared, unable to move from fear. The man’s screams were quickly silenced as his face hits the ground, his teeth cracking. 096 quickly disposes of him, before giving the wife a similar treatment. He tore her in half, her intestines are no longer contained and go everywhere, she unfortunately is still technically alive, although not for much longer. He takes in her first half, then second half and then he checked to make sure he left nothing behind.  
It takes a second for 096 to calm down, once he does he goes over to the nearby pond. He takes to swimming, as well as fishing.   
This place was calm. He liked it.

106:  
My hand reaches through, grabbing right where I had hoped. My hand wraps around a thin ankle, holding it still. A thud is follows a high pitch scream, she had fallen. By the time I saw her she was crying but was ready to fight.   
I was delayed in sending her off because she had kicked me in the arm. I jump back, consequently letting her go. Bitch.  
I had already begun to corrode into her, I was surprised to find that didn’t stop her. I have gotten too used to no one daring to attack me. She ran off but could only hobble, she was screaming too. I need to be quick, she’ll alert everyone.  
I go back into my dimension, where I want to be is faintly in my head, as if I was looking at it through water’s reflection.  
I take about 10 seconds to get out, but I can’t be visible. She doesn’t seem to be looking down, so I begin to enter through the side of the ground. About a 50 feet away from her. She doesn’t notice me and her ankle gives out, she ends up falling into my arms. She realizes who I am from the searing pain in her back and my hand. But she is too late, she’s mine now.  
I drop her into the dimension and leave. I haven’t caught someone and left them their until death in a long time. I will do it again. She is the opposite of me, young, able, quick, she might be smarter, she’s beautiful, therefore she must pay.

173:  
Crack. He drops. Some swearing, I’ve startled them. Good. I like the unpredictable. I am unpredictable.  
Two turned to me, weapons drawn. Bullets don’t pierce me. But I crack their necks. A wonderful crunch. One looks away, it's a mistake. He gets a crunch.   
Screams are louder, cursing is louder, so is my crunch. Bodies are getting in my way. But I am still faster. They run, I catch, I crunch, they die.  
Much fun, the crunch. D-Class don’t deserve the crunch. But I give. These people shall die. So I give the crunch. Blood spreads, people are eliminated. I crunch.   
People swarm. I crunch more. People call, cages are coming. The foundation my come.  
I move away but freeze. Too many people, too many are looking. I can’t run. I wait. Gunshots go off, people look away. I run. I go home. The blood trail goes away. No one can trace me. No one is up. I clean myself. They will not know. I crunched, they will not know. I did well.

682:

I destroyed all of the ghetto of the town.   
So, I was walking home, minding my own fucking business, when two dumb-asses decide “hey, let’s jump the massive alone guy!”, I fucking showed them.  
I finished another shift at work, went fucking perfectly. Muscle is enough in jobs like these. I got my pay, which was better than the last time, it was roughly $700. I don’t fucking need any damn money. Jack takes it anyway. Not like it single-handedly pays for shit. And it takes about 3 paychecks to cover our massive ass food bill anyway.  
Back to it, I took yet another route, the long route. The longest damn route. I only know my way around half of this shitshow, so I need to get familiar with the other half, the even shittier half. And hey, if I can destroy it, that’s even better.   
Anyway, the two shitheads appear, one jumps onto my back, the other tries to block my way. They must have expected me to fall over but I left one hanging onto my back pathetically and one pathetic guy standing in front of me at bit startled that their fucking “marvelous” plan didn’t work out.  
I grabbed the guy on my back, throwing him onto the guy in front of me. They collapse, the weight of the first guy almost knocks the air out of the second guy. This must have caught some fucktard’s attention or they had some fucking useless buddies on standby because it doesn’t take long for some fucking cops to show up.   
I can’t say I know how many of the bastards there were. They did not fucking hesitate and popped more than one cap in my ass. I charge at them, bullets don’t do shit, but I can.   
I rip the ones in the front, of this ever so growing line of dumb-asses. Their guts are everywhere. They smell so much cleaner than any damn D-Class, it makes it more rewarding to kill them, civilians have always pissed me off almost more than anything else.  
I make my way to their cars, which were more than stained in these pig’s dirty blood. One of the bastards got to their radio and called for backup. I actually considered this shithole decent for once, since they brought a tank and I love tearing those issue-clad vehicles. But why the fuck does this city have tanks?!  
I see the fuckers approach. You kind of can’t not fucking notice, they’re goddamn tanks. I hurl the nearest police car at the leading tank, I know that won’t do fucking anything... on its own.   
The car was suspended on the tank, I know their vision was blocked by it. I charge at them, and in a true display of fucking strength, throw that tank over my shoulder, it took out the building behind me.  
Rinse and fucking repeat.   
I got home at 7, the sun was just beginning to rise. The smoke of the shithole could be seen from well beyond where we lived.   
I slip in the best I can, shed my skin and wait for some dumbass to notice.

Dr. Bright

I drum my fingertips on the table at work. Something is getting to me, I’ve been a lot more antsy, a lot more paranoid.   
I know why.   
Aside from being in possibly the most dangerous house in the world, I don’t have any precautions set up. Now, I’m not talking about some sort of weapon or maybe not pissing them off, screw that. I mean, I’ve never cared for that in the past, and that hasn’t changed.  
The reason for my anxiety is: I don’t have an extra body. So, I can possess bodies, thanks to 963. Though this hasn’t exactly been a blessing. Due to my immortality, sure I won’t need a weapons, and honestly having a backup is not a bad idea, but it has become a habit. I pull someone that won’t be missed, whose position is easy enough for me to imitate and, in this case, doesn’t have a family. It’s easy enough. But I have gone far too long without it.  
A co-worker, Jeremiah I believe, comes by. I got here early so there’d be less people. So far only the higher ups have been here or some people I know for a fact have kids, or wives, or something.   
Him, on the other hand, he’s quite the bachelor.   
“Jeremiah,” I call him over to my desk. I’m older than him, well I’m older than everyone here, but mostly I have been talking to him. The first name and how I know his family situation is only from talking to him.   
Naturally, he comes over. “Yes?”   
“Do you smoke?”  
He seems thrown-off by the question but answers anyway, “yes?”  
“Great, before work starts, do you care to join me for one?” I offer, standing up.  
Clearly the pressure of me being ready to go persuades him and he nods, following me.   
We reach outside and he hands me a cigarette, lighting it for me. At first we simply talk as I slowly lead him into the scarcely wooded area behind our work.  
“Do you believe in life after death?” I never mean to get so morbid, but it happens every time. To my surprise he doesn’t seem to care.  
“Not really. Why?” he exhales a cloud of smoke. I take off 963, balancing the cigarette in my mouth and adjusting the necklace band in my hands so I can easily slip it over him.  
“Just curious,” I glance over my shoulder. The base is off in the distance, as unsuspecting of my intentions as Jeremiah. I pull it over his head and pull back, slightly choking him. He stumbles back but it is no use. I feel him go limp as 963 makes contact with his skin.  
I let him slide down to the ground and wait for 963 to take hold.  
“Ah, I have a headache,” the other me gets up.  
“Are you ready?” I ask. I’ll have to get the amulet back by tomorrow. I can update my conscious and I have someone to act in place of me, should anything happen to me.  
“You should know the answer.” He smiles as he stomps out what is left of the cigarette.   
We walk back to the base and both begin our work, no one knows anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! After forever. It isn't complete, I'll have one section for each character, in which they go back to being all murdery. I don't want them becoming too docile.  
> And, thank you so much for almost 1,000 hits! It seems like everyone likes it, which is surprising, I'm not a good writer, but I am not complaing.


	13. The "date" with Bright

“Get up,” with a simple one-handed push from 682 Jack was sent off of the bed. He was lucky to be on the lower floor where after colliding with the wall he had a bed underneath him, which caught his fall.  
“Ow! What the Hell?” Jack pulls himself up, but he doesn’t leave the bed and grips his side which had clipped the headboard on his way over and down.  
“I tried waking you up a normal way.” 682 mutters but all that did was earn him a disbelieving glare from Jack.  
“Why do you want me awake? I don’t have work.” Jack questions, checking himself for any extra bruising as he stands up.  
“Well you drag us around to do stupid shit with you all the fucking time. So I’m going to give you the same damn treatment.”  
Normally reason would tell someone to stay quiet, and Jack holds his tongue, except Jack doesn’t have reason and has gotten a little too used to immortality, so he quips, “if you wanted to ask me out, you could.”   
Normally a person would die from being thrown quite literally through a wall. But Jack was not most people.   
035 and 049 had been discussing Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics in the kitchen as 035 was mixing up a massive mug of coffee (his body had massive cravings. It seems the body he has now had over 13 different recorded substance addictions, coffee being one of them) and 049 was standing by the corner of the table, adjacent to 079. In the middle of 035’s sentence Jack came flying through, his descent would have torn 079 from the table had not 049 laid a hand on it to keep it rooted.  
Jack laid there, pain rippling across his body as the cold tile was able to subdue it slightly. His breathing is a bit strained and nothing wants to move. But he does have willpower and peels himself off of the ground, and a popping could be heard as he pulled himself up. Left on the ground was a translucent layer of blood that outlined where he had laid.  
“You should be dead!” 682 growls as he stomps into the kitchen. 049 moves out of his way, having just situated himself by the doorway and 035 watches with keen interest.  
Jack slowly stumbles into a standing position, “I’m not most people,” he defiantly snaps back. He pops his bones and once more has to check for what physical damage may have occurred, which in the end was very minimal, but he was still greatly in pain.  
682 growls, walking off to gather something, “you’re still coming along.” Jack groans in response.   
A whistle catches his attention as 035 throws him the bottle of Ibuprofen over his shoulder, in which Jack proceeds to take more than 3 times what he should. He hums in thanks before walking around to 682.  
“Alright, we’re going.” 682 finally proceeds out the door, Jack reluctantly following behind him. Before he leaves he throws the bottle in the general direction of the kitchen, in which an appendage of 035 reaches up from the floor and catches it. The appendage throws the bottle and with a rattle Jack could hear 035 catch it and set it down on the counter.  
“Their relationship is going to be so abusive,” 035 chuckles, he made sure they were gone before mentioning anything. Jack’s feelings he had no care for but he was smart enough not to tempt the giant, city-destroying, near indestructible SCP to beating the ever so loving shit out of him.  
“As if ours isn’t?” 049 slips past 035, heading for the books, these two both have work off and 049 has plans to read and cure, he does expect some intervention from 035 which will alter the time periods in which that will be completed.  
Concerning their relationship, it was not the pinnacle of a healthy relationship, which was what 035 has come to prefer, nor is it the disaster that any relationship with 682 would be.   
035 has yet to figure out what past romantic endeavours 049 may have had and any inquiry always leaves 035 with nothing more than blunt answers that somehow fail to answer his questions.  
Jack tails behind 682, glowering at him the entire time, he had half the mind to take off and run but he knew not only was his pain enough to deter him but 682 was not a slow creature and he was more than aware of how quickly 682 would pounce his ass.  
“Where are we going?” Jack growls. He has gotten tired of just following him around and as they were approaching a more secluded sector of the city that was primarily abandoned, Jack was becoming more and more hesitant as to what 682 had planned.  
It wasn’t until the light had drained from the street and the buildings that lined it were decrepit, boarded up and devoid of everyone, even the homeless steered clear, did 682 stop, having veered off the be standing in front of a slightly more structurally sound brick building that looks as if it may have been a hospital at one point.  
Jack hesitantly walks closer to 682, having stayed back should that building be containing something less than pleasant. However, as Jack’s foot just barely passed within 3 feet of 682, 682 grabbed him by the collar, slamming him into the wall which caused every pained spot on Jack’s body become agitated and sent a flare of pain throughout his body. Jack was held in place by 682’s forearm, which was wider than Jack’s face, across his chest, not quite prohibiting breathing but very strongly discouraging it.   
“I guess putting me through one wall wasn’t enough for you?” Jack coughs out once the pain subsided enough for him to be able to speak.  
“I’ll throw you through this if you’d like,” 682 growls in response, his yellow eyes boring holes into Jack, “if being thrown through the shitty ass drywall was too gentle for you and you’d prefer the brick.”  
“I didn’t think you gave two shits about what I want.” Jack spits back.  
“You’re right,” 682 presses his forearm harder into Jack’s chest.  
“Why bring me here?” Jack tries to speak in a normal tone but it is faint and breathy.   
“You like me, don’t you? How fucked up are you?”  
“I’m more fucked up than you would think.” Jack avoids the first question. There is one thing knowing it, anyone who was even remotely of his less than standard sexual orientation knew it only needed an equal-to-human intelligence to be a potential partner for him. Honestly he wasn’t that ashamed. But when you’re face-to-face with the vindictive lizard himself, he can’t do much more than cease to function.  
“Answer the question.”  
“I did.”  
“The first damn question.” 682 is getting impatient.  
“Yes, yes I do. You fucking happy?” Jack spits. Any and all fear was gone, he knew what he was doing, even as unadivisable as it was.  
“Why?” 682’s shock was a mix between having not actually expected Jack to answer, much less answer so quickly. Second, being the destructive, unfriendly, murderous, and all around untouchable person left him certain no thing would ever be attracted to him. He had never considered it.  
“I get pissed at this world, not to the same degree you do. I’m old, I’ve seen the way humans are. Your views are cynical, I’ve always liked a pessimist. I hate half of the features about you, which I’ve come to find attractive.” he shrugs. Jack is aware his neck will either be snapped or his back will.   
In a move that Jack had scrunched up at, expecting death, he found himself begin kissed. 682 had just stared at him before leaning in. Jack briefly considered the possibility of 682 being poisonous, similar to a komodo dragon, but if he dies fuck it. Nothing has ever been more worth it.  
Jack didn’t have a gag reflex, making it easier as 682 slides his tongue down his throat, making it the weirdest kiss he had ever had.   
When 682 retracted his tongue and broke the kiss it left Jack almost gasping for air, all the while 682’s tongue ran across his neck and down his chest. He had no idea how long 682’s tongue was, but all he could tell is that is could nicely coat him in seconds, despite him being clothed.  
“How structurally sound do you think this building is?” Jack breaths out.   
682 quickly realizes what he’s implying, “you move real fast.”  
“Is that a no?”  
“It’s a yes,” 682 drags him off, causing the city to shake just a little bit more than usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, 682 and Jack is official! I will go back to complete chapter 9, and the next chapter should focus on the consequences of that.   
> Quick headcanon note: Jack, at least to me, is far older than I'm sure most would think. His youngest sister (SCP-321) was born at a minimum of 1899 and a maximum of 1800. Because of this, I have placed his birth about 10 years before the (American) Civil War. This doesn't really matter, but it will explain any time he refers to himself as "old".


	14. And Then the Foundation Came

Jack rolled over in bed, refusing to get up, despite how violently his phone shook as it rang. He lazily flung his arm over and his fingers just barely wrap around it as his arm slides off the dresser.   
To say he was sore was an understatement. Although he had felt fucking great, the same feeling still lingered, holy Hell did it take a lot out if him.   
“Dr.Bright,” he sleepily answers, forcing himself into an upright position.  
“We’re swarming the house.” As tired as he was, Jack’s mind still worked like no other, he knew what they meant.  
“I’m upstairs, most of the SCP’s should be downstairs. And downstairs they were.   
Jack heard the gas cans go off, they must have rolled them in after he told them his and the SCP’s location. A few guards stomp up the stairs to see Jack sitting there, on the phone. He had gotten himself to where he was sitting on the edge of the bed but he was far from standing.  
“I see you haven’t moved much.” the lead MTF growls.  
“Isn’t it obvious I can’t?” The massive hole in the wall can help as evidence, although falsely attributed. However, it was his current situation that would allow for them to believe it. He had bruising and a lot of claw marks, which he surprisingly didn’t get from going through the wall, but they looked as if he had.  
“Right, someone carry him to the van.” Another MTF picks Jack up and places him into the back of one of the vans. All the while the other SCP’s were being loaded into the higher security ones. Jack’s heart skipped a beat when he saw 682, his affection was taking over but he had to hide it. Should he not be currently tied to 963, and the foundation were to find out, he would be dead in seconds.  
“Are you guys going to tell me what happened?”   
“We’ll give you a briefing when we get there.” Was their answer and Jack didn’t push. As hyper as he was he knew when to wait and he had a lot less of an issue sitting in the back of a car as the MTF’s had hoped for but did not expect.  
They arrived soon enough. Jack wasn’t placed in some cell, rather he was able to follow around the director who explained the situation.  
“As we expected, the SCP’s didn’t wait. They remained compliant for far longer than we had expected, but that doesn’t mean much. All of them except 079, 049, and 096 have committed some sort of provable crime.”  
“079, 096, and 049 didn’t do anything?” he asks, in disbelief.  
“Our thoughts exactly, yet we have no proof.”  
“So, what are we going to do?”  
“We have ways to punish them.” They stop in front of the cell 049 is currently in. He is seated at a table, his hands are chained to the table, as are his feet the the chair. They both listen in on the conversation.  
“We know you have cured while out of our watch. There is no point in denying it. Now, tell us what you did.” A scientist accuses, speaking to him through the intercom.  
“On the contrary, it is you who is aware I have done nothing. Had I done something you would not be here demanding the details, as you would already be more than aware.” Jack sighed, they shouldn’t have added in the last sentence, although he was more than aware they would have still gotten a similar response, all they did was succeed in giving 049 more material to work with.   
Despite 049 often not being considered as cunning of a linguist as 035, Jack knew it was a mistake to treat him as if he wasn’t, when he is more than that.  
“What do you gain from denying it?” The scientist pushes.  
“Other than a simple desire to not be tried for a case I did not commit,” Jack scoffs at this, 049 was a convincing liar though. And, Jack knew he had no proof that 049 did anything, just like the foundation, intuition alone was not good enough evidence. “I would argue it does not matter, you will still punish me the same.” 049 was very much correct.  
“I take it you don’t have any evidence?” The man leads Jack further down the hallway.  
“No, aside from past experience and logic,” Jack admits.  
“Sometimes I wish that was all you needed.” The man sighs. He leads Jack into his office, “so, you’re probably wondering what we have planned to keep them in check?”  
“We would have an issue if I didn’t.”  
“You know the earwig, right?”  
“Like the actual animal or SCP-439?”  
“The SCP. This is a mix of multiple SCP’s but we have created a very specialized SCP-439, rather than turning the body to bone, inherently, it sends a chemical throughout the SCP’s body that weakens them.” There was an excitement in his voice, Jack had never heard of this experiment and it was either extremely classified or brand new.   
“I don’t see how these things would do anything.”   
“We have done some tests, these can withstand 682, this is mostly for him. As well as for 106.”  
“And for 035?”  
“We were thinking if implanting a tracker on all of them, as for 035? He’ll be difficult, we’re definitely going to limit his host privileges.”  
“Because that has always worked so well.” Jack remark. But it was a fair point.  
“We also have non corrodible chains, basically, give him a straight jacket. But, 049 will be tricky. Nothing can really keep him from removing whatever we would put in him, tracker included, he is far too skilled medically. However, we were thinking of another approach.”  
“Which is?”  
“You’re more than aware of 049’s habits, yes? Everything needs to be clean, pristine, well maintained, and so on. As for him, be relatively emotionless and controlled, yes?”  
Jack nods, he had no idea where he was going with this. Nothing was really worth noting, in that department, other than it set him apart from most any other SCP and made Jack question how the Hell he could tolerate 035.  
“We were going to handcuff SCP-049 to SCP-542.” He explains, in the most direct manner thus far.  
“What?!” Jack gapes once his brain had finally registered what the man was saying.  
The man laughs, “we have our reason.”  
“I think you just lost it.” He coughs out, he was known for his outrageous tactics, but dear lord, he would never consider this. “How would that help us? They’ll probably both get out and now you have two eerily similar SCP’s that’ll be pissed at you for doing this and will have more of a vendetta for us with the capability of getting to us in a fucking New York minute.” Jack protests.  
“These won’t be simple handcuffs, they’ll be infused into their bones.”  
“I’m sure removing an arm would be no issue to either of them.”  
“We are fairly certain 049 can’t regenerate limbs.” The man scoffs.  
“Nowhere in that sentence did I say it would be his arm. I’m fairly certain this won’t be much of a hindrance to either of them. Are we even sure 049’s touch won’t kill 542?”  
“Why would he want to be chained to something dead? He’s intelligent, even if that is a pain for us, he should recognize he will have more work, dragging a corpse around, than if he left 542 alive. That’s suggesting 049 can even kill 542.” He shrugs, clearly this idea was far more plausible in his head than in Jack’s.  
“I would argue it is easier to remove a corpse from something but, I digress. What are you going to do about 173 and 096?”  
“House arrest. These two don’t have jobs, just keep them inside. Lock whatever doors you need. And, for 079, just put this USB in him of he pulls something.” The man slides it to him.  
“If you go back to the garage, we have all of the supplies for you.”   
***  
The operating rooms are alive, their lights on in full, medical equipment of every kind is to be employed, on top of all of the doctors, which were more numerous than usual, there were specially trained guards on standby, like mythical suits of armour, unmoving until called, with a few D-Class kept in the corner should things go wrong.   
They were about to conduct a series of complicated, and most likely unadvisable, operations. They have to work quick and with heavy sedatives on standby, if not a nuke to do the same job.  
First they have 106 and 682, both of which have been chained to the table, or bolted down, in their security measures the only places that lacked metal plating were the areas that were required for surgery.   
In the back a form of SCP-439 crawled around in its glass container, not yet having its free will relinquished. A couple of buttons being pushed changed that, as they soon were no more than robots with a flesh exterior.  
They dangle the creatures from the end of long tweezers over their mouths and drop them in. Both SCP’s shake as they can feel it scrape their throat, forcing its way into their lungs. They feel it burrow into their lungs, they can feel the fragile flesh falling to the side. They cough up blood, but due to their position it begins to try and slide back, their airways are blocked. They are left trying to gasp for air when none will come, they are drowning. Eventually the pain subsides, but not before it was well within their bodies and the foundation pumps out the blood that has risen. They lay there, angry but too in pain to do anything.  
049 and 542 were next. They were side by side in a different operating room, one less designed to save and more to alter. A machine with molten titanium lies behind their beds.   
Both of them are sedated but only 049 remains somewhat conscious. What functioning part of his mind that is left yells at him to go, but he can’t. Numbed, he can only barely recognize the collar around his neck, or the metal encasings for his hands, and similar bracings for his arms and legs, with the exception of his left arm being outstretched to his side rather than being simply tied down by his side.  
Another issue is his body won’t respond, his attempts to move anything that wasn’t tightly strapped down was futile and only with great effort could he get his eyes to move.   
It was not them that told him of what to come, a sharp, cutting pain shot from his arm. They were inserting a rod through the skin, he tensed as he felt it scrape his bone for a brief second. It came out the other end, right under his wrist. For a second they left it there, but only for a second, as he could hear chains rattling.   
He did not know of what was to come.   
A painful yank pulled the rod from his arm, he could feel the muscle tear as they did and soon an overwhelming pain as his inner arm heated. The metal coating his bone and burning the muscle.   
He became too numb to feel anything, either from his body shutting off its pain reception or from the nerves being fried, long before the process was done.   
He did not stay awake either, passing not too long after they finished.  
Bright got a look at them right as the procedure finished, the two doctors were handcuffed together in bloodstained cuffs whose beginning was in their arm, the chains appeared to be molded into the surrounding skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter. I know this is an odd turn but I needed something messed up but fitting for the foundation, that is: bizzare and with little regard for nothing but twisted practicality.


	15. Coping Pt.1

They had all been returned to the house. While the foundation would often wait for the SCP’s to become more adjusted to their new situation in the security of the base, the higher ups had surprisingly operated against that. They had the suspicion the SCP’s would prefer the home, which was far less of an oppressive cell that the foundation is.  
However, that does not mean the Foundation had not increased the security of the home. It was minimal, in the grand scheme of things, but it would be sufficient in containing both 096 and 173.  
The front door had been fitted with a number lock, which as 173 would later figure out, could not be opened by him slamming his side into the panel which in the end would just simultaneously press twice as many buttons as necessary. 096 was not smart enough to work the passcode. As far as most would assume, 096 at the very least had a concept of numbers, even if in its most basic of forms, and 096 should have object permanence enough to recognize the keypad’s function and purpose, but not enough to know how to work one. It was also safe to figure 096 did not have the mental capacity to memorize any string of numbers, much less the 12 that were needed to unlock the door.  
The windows received a simpler security measure, which was replacing the standard two-pane windows with thick, bullet-and-173-proof windows, which struggled to not be too thick for the window opening. Along with them having a much simpler, six-didget keycode to open.  
The ventilation had been improved, as far as filtration and some simple locks go. They didn't want any SCP's crawling around in there. Aside from those alterations, the house hadn’t been changed by much, not nearly as much as Jack would have either expected or wanted. Outside cameras had been installed, which was mostly to keep a better tab on whether or not any one of them were outside when they shouldn't be. It had been a long debate, but in the end the higher-ups had still decided to not have cameras in the house.  
Slowly each of them regained consciousness, but not nearly all at once. They had all been strewn somewhat haphazardly in the living room. 035 and 096 were the first to wake up, having nothing been really done to them aside from heavy sedation.  
Due to 173 being a statue, it was released into the house once everyone had been placed inside. They didn't want it running out or killing anyone whilst they were occupied. 173 darted around the house, but it was unlikely 173 really would notice any change other than structural. And once it had tired of running around, it retreated to the upper floors had had not come out.  
“What was done to us?” 035 growls, he was a bit off kilter when rising and had to (in his mind humiliatingly) use the coffee table as support. He had been unconscious, or as close to that state as the foundation could bring him, but that does not mean his viscous liquid had been just as dormant. The body was no more than a skeleton thickly coated in the liquid. Some muscle remained, but not in the legs, and the bones were beginning to lose density.  
“To you, nothing really.” Jack answered. He didn’t trust the SCP’s to be out of his sight, not at the moment anyway, it didn’t help that he could hardly stand there calmly knowing what was done to 682. He was reading the new house rules to try and calm himself. He didn’t look up from it, 035 was not his concern.  
035 assess his surroundings, he was back at the house, everyone was here, and one extra. 035 carefully stepped forward, to the couch. Laying on it was 049, who was still sedated, but 035’s attention drifted to the body that was laying next to the couch. It was chained to 049, 035 noticed, but he couldn’t recognize exactly what it was, an SCP, obviously, but which posed a different question.  
035 reaches a hand out first, hesitantly drawing nearer, expecting for a sudden movement from the mass, a sharp jerk and 035 could only imagine himself being torn into shreds. Sure the form looked mostly too human to pull such a feat, and much too decayed. Yet, 035 knew not to underestimate.  
The body rocked from where 035 had gently shoved it, not stirring when he did so. The body was that of a man, or more like the skinned skeleton of one. His skin was tight against his face, his blonde hair was a bit more than messy, his skin was also a sickly colour, or, at least, some of it was. His body held no one true tone, all around stitching connected various sheets of skin, all in different levels of decay. Some were practically new, others nearly slid away in rot.  
His fingers had so many joints, even then they were boney. 035 noticed blood on this man’s lower palm. It was red blood. He followed it up.  
Dried blood laid across his bony wrists, giving them an eerie contour.  
Further up he followed it. It came down in streaks on his thin arms, also dried. And also in too great of an amount.  
Further up he followed it. Until it no longer was in streaks but just a giant stain of wine red.  
Further up he followed it. Until he saw what created it. It was metal jutting from the skin, the wound had been very poorly cleaned, that much he knew. The metal attached chains, which helped hold cuffs, which were chained…  
035 halted. His hands moved to 049's sleeve, finding it before he turned to face him. He was hesitant, scared, he had an idea of what to expect but a great desire to be wrong.  
Carefully he rolled back the thick, heavy, black leather of his sleeve, and moved the top of his glove. 049’s skin was first that gorgeous white that even rivaled 035’s flawless colouration.  
Yet he noticed black. 049 has black blood. The black was first just little dots. Then streaks. The farther up he went the more it came. Then a mass. Each spot was like the other man's: dried.  
035 felt as if this body’s heart would suddenly begin to beat.  
Then…. the metal. It came out of his skin in the same way as it did on the man, yet to 035 it was so much worse. This thing they had done to 049. His 049. His friend. His partner. 049 was not to be trifled with. Yet they had done so.  
Jack had not but a second to look up before the decaying hands of 035 wrapped around his throat.  
“What the Hell?!” Jack kicked 035 square in the chest, which disconnected the body from the chair, yet he found it to not budge the hands that were constricting more and more around his neck.  
“What. Did. You. Do. To. Him?” 035 growls out in a voice Jack can only find suitable for Hell. 035 had snaked his way back on, the mask first just resting on a pile of black, viscous liquid, but then the mass pushed him from the back and elongated until 035 was closer than before. New hands locked Jack’s body in place and forced him to look at the sedated 049 and 542.  
“I thought it was obvious,” Jack ventures, earning him one of the hardest hits to the chest he had ever had, he could feel two ribs crack.  
“Who did this?! I will make sure they feel nothing but pain!” 035 both demands and promises, anger radiating off of him. So much so that the living room plant began to wilt, and 035’s viscous liquid began to seep from it.  
“I don't know,” Jack coughs out the best he can from his constricted airways.  
“Bullshit,” 035 hisses out. Jack was facing probably the most terrifying thing his has been face to face with. Honestly, Able was a blur when he killed him, and Jack disn't fear 682. He fucked him. That said, a possessive mask who has literally dimmed the room in anger gave Jack a feeling that he will suffer.  
At this time 049 had begun to stir, trying to move his arms, only to find one respond and the other to shoot forth a blast of pain.  
542 woke easier, his body wasn’t so much his own as it was a cumulation of others’. “Was? Wer sein Sie?” he sits himself upright, enough to see 049 more clearly.  
“Ich heiße SCP-049,” 049 mutters, answering and also trying to coax his aching body into moving. He didn't bother to try and give a fake name, the other man is an SCP after all.  
049’s voice sent relief to 035, something that Jack could feel as the anger did slightly calm and his throat was able to intake some air. The liquid stopped seeping from areas and the lights came back to a more full light, though Jack swore it was never as bright as it had been before. “I find it odd you’re acting like this,” Jack mocks, taking his chances.  
“Because you didn’t feel fear and anger when 682 was being ‘processed’?” 035 snaps, “oh yes, I know about you fucking him. How you had your body slammed into that building’s floor while 682’s dick pounded you to it.” 035 revels in Jack’s shock, “I am a telepath, and let me tell you, you’d be no better off if you felt what I am.”  
“Was haben Sie gemacht?!” 542 cries out in shock, breaking 035 and Jack’s intense moment. 542 was pulling at the chain, at first he had noticed it, but had not realized he was chained to 049.  
“Ich mache das nicht!” 049 growls, not at all happy to be accused of performing this.  
“Wo bin ich?” 542 asks. He was now assessing his surroundings, in an attempt to recover from his realization of his new state.  
“Ein haus der Foundation.” 049 replies. Jack was amazed to find pain in 049’s voice, earning him a slap across the face by one of 035's extremities. It stung, badly. He didn't feel anything dissolving though.  
“Warum?” 542 continues.  
049 glares at him but replies regardless, “Die Foundation kann.”  
035 slid off of Jack, not before slapping him hard across the face again. He walks over to 049 and offers his hand, which 049 takes, helping him to his feet.  
“Und, wer seid ihr?” 542 stands as well.  
“Ich bin die Komedie Mask,” 035 introduces himself. 049 spoke most any European language very well, to a degree of perfection, 035 did as well, save for Latin. Which 035 in his stubborness refuses to learn.  
“Er is Dr.Bright. SCP-682, SCP-096, SCP-079, SCP-173 und SCP-106. Sie heir auch wohnen,” 049 explains. He was leaning heavily on 035 and probably shouldn’t be standing.  
“Listen,” Jack stands up, “the Foundation gave these out as corrective measures-”  
“Punishments.” 035 corrects, holding 049 close.  
“And I don’t know how long you’ll need to be like this. Unfortunately, I have to leave. Much worse will be dealt if you all act up when I’m gone.” Jack whisks himself away, not wanting to endure any possible outburst by 035.  
“How are you feeling?” 035 lets himself show more care about 049, now that the scientist wasn’t there. He couldn’t fucking care less if 542 watched, he could write a book detailing their interactions and all 035 would do is kill him for it later.  
“Horrible. I believe they have inserted a rod all throughout the forearm in which these cuffs are connected to. My body is having an adverse reaction but I am unsure as to what extent it may have, and how I will go about rectifying it.” 049 admits.  
“Haben Sie ein Bad?” 542 asks. Sure he could speak English, but he was not in a cooperative mood, and everyone seemed to understand him, the mask and the Plague Doctor, so he felt no need to adjust his language.  
“Dort,” 049 motions to the bathroom and the three make it there. 049 was not quite fit to move, but he turned down help as much as he could, often pulling 035’s hand off of him. He could do it himself. Maybe he couldn't now. But he felt he should.  
542 takes no time scouring the medicine cabinets for rubbing alcohol, and for once 049 feels all too weak to protest, having to accept that it should be sufficient  
“Ah! Sie haben es.” 542 draws a large bottle of rubbing alcohol from the bathroom cabinet. For himself he simply tore off a section of his sleeve, dousing it in rubbing alcohol and patted it on the wound and blood.  
When he went to help clean 049, as his “doctoral” instincts told him to do, less aware this person in front of him was a doctor and not some man in a costume, 049 stopped him immediately. “Nein. Ich werde.” 049 looks for a clean towel.  
“Sie haben kein Handtuch,” 542 tells, aware of what 049 was searching for.  
“Aber, wir haben Servietten.” 049 answers and makes his way to the kitchen, with 542 following behind. 049 takes clean paper towels and applies a more carefully measured amount of rubbing alcohol on them, swabbing the area first to see how much he would need, and to see if there was any burning in response to the alcohol. He found no burning and the blood was easy enough to clean. “Brauchen Sie schlafen?” 049 asks 542, who was quietly fiddling with the knife drawer.  
“Ja. Ich brauche jetzt schlafen.” he admits, closing the knife drawer with a few in his pockets.  
035 was already ready to help and they made their way to the bedroom. 542 kept himself to one side and 049 kept himself as far to the other side as he could, 035 layed next to 049. The two were lucky to find 542 heavily asleep, and quickly too. They could talk.  
“This is nothing short of horrid,” 049 breaths. Now that he was laying in bed he was not nearly as in pain as he was, yet by no means was he comfortable.  
“I’m still pissed about this,” 035 snarls, propping himself up on and arm, whilst resting the other hand on 049’s chest.  
“I see what the Foundation wants to do. Tying me up to him.”  
“You’re a bit more than tied.” 035 begins to remove the mask, at first with protest from 049 but he did so anyway.  
“I do not need reminders,” 049 snaps, in a bit of a snarky mood. His now exposed face reflected how tired and sick he was.  
“Which is why I will be distracting you,” 035 explains as he began to remove the cloak, with an ease that most anyone else could never achieve.  
“Must you be like this?” 049 sighs, but it quickly turns to a sharp inhale as 035 slides himself to on top of him.  
“Are you surprised at this point?” 035 moves around, getting it all the way in him, personally very happy, and 049 nothing short of annoyed.  
“You have never surprised me.” 049 grits his teeth a bit. Sure the sudden pleasure that coursed through him was better than the pain that stung his bones, yet he had yet to be in the mood for it. “Do not forget we are not alone.”  
“Him? Don’t worry, he’s out cold and I’m in his head, I’ll know when he wakes. Before he does.” he muses proundly. Letting a created hand and tentacle caress 049. One traced it across his torso, one finger spiraling across his neck and chest, feeling every skin and every sharp point of bone. The other wrapped itself around one of 049’s legs, pulling it side, leaving him more exposed.  
“What was this you said about me never surprising you?” 035 slammed himself down, allowing the body to send him signals of pleasure, which racked his body. This one was so depraved, each thrust in left 035 with the same intensity of pleasure.  
“I simply know you.” 049 breaths out.  
“Not as well as you may think.” 035 chuckles, knowing it was not true, but all too aware 049 could not reply back, he was almost panting. He never moaned though, something 035 was determined to one day hear from his lips.  
After hours passed as these two both carried on with a stamina most wouldn’t expect the doctor to have, 035 finally, in a few quick movements, got the both of them to climax. 035 redressed 049, after cleaning him up and fell asleep next to him.  
When Jack returned home, all he saw was 049, 542 and 035 sharing the same bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! It is technically "smut", I'll probably edit it later.  
> There is German, basic German, I tried to leave plenty of hints as to what they were talking about.  
> There's an update to the German: I pulled my head out of my ass enough when I went ahead and revised this chapter to fix a lot of the issues with my use of the language. "Wo" means where and "Wer" is who, my mistake. Also, German requires any verb past the first verb to be at the end of the sentence, unless it's a conjunction. I'm putting that in so people can help correct me.  
> And, with almost 2,000 hits and 25+ comments, thank you all for so much support and enthusiasm! You all have all been so supportive and enthusiastic about the fic and I am honoured. Thank you all!


	16. Coping Pt.2

Jack, once coming home, had gone to the bathroom, removing his shirt. The bathroom light shone on him from above, giving an interesting shadow. The small bathroom felt like a pin, he couldn’t move freely. Or many like a curio, where he was the museum exhibit and the audience stood in the mirror, who would glare back at him with judgement, which they freely talked about amongst themselves, but not to him. Who really ever speaks to the exhibit? It can’t feel anything, it isn’t real.  
On his chest there was heavy bruising, which was such a stark contrast with his tan skin. The bruise was deep purple, the edges faded out, like a drop of purple dye had been dropped on a piece of paper and had fanned out. It was mostly concentrated at the center of his chest, right below his collar bones, however where his ribs had been broken had caused some faint bruising. That bruising looked more like he had brushed his side against a wall that had just recently been powdered in a thin layer of light blue chalk.  
He stared at himself in the mirror, fatigue morphed this body’s face into a solemn expression. This face, it was not his. Nothing since that day had been. He had never truly faced that concept. Seeing a new body was easy enough to acclimate to. As a boy he grew in such sporadic bursts he was used to having to change clothing size every other month, even if that body was no longer his.  
As a boy times got rough, he was used to working a lot and eating little, his body would become lean but still starved. Yet he rarely thought of the abnormal rate in which he would be a large, muscular man who had been a hitman, to a scrawny thing that had been good for slipping into grates.  
But the face was different. It was not unusual to look into the mirror and not like what you see, but it was rare to look into the mirror and not be who, or what, you see.  
How could 682 love me if I am always someone new? Jack’s insecurities tug at his mind.  
How do you know it just wasn’t that he found that one body appealing?  
How could you not figure out he could be using you?  
But he isn’t 035, Jack defends.  
But he could be just like his friend, 079. How can you not see this?  
Because it isn’t there! His mind hurts, emotions begin to well up inside of him. If this body has emotional instabilities, he knows not, because what he feels is both too great for most people, yet not unknown to him.  
Speaking of that overgrown toad, you haven’t checked on him, have you?  
Silence.  
Have you?  
“...No,” Jack mutters.  
Why? Scared of what you’ll see? Are you terrified of what they done? Was it really you who like him for the aesthetic? For whatever fucked up fetish you have? For-  
The voice is cut off when Jack yells, his fingers wrapping around the medicine cabinet’s door. His fingers press against the wood, he pulls it open, feeling a tiny bit of resistance from the magnet. He feels like the magnet, like the magnet is his mind and the door is sanity, they are being yanked apart with ease.  
He slams the door closed, shattering the glass, it falls at his feet. None of the shards break the skin, but he wish they did.  
Now the door was reality, and it had slammed into him. As he stood there, staring at his feet, the voice was quiet, it was gone. He inhaled before walking out, he was going to see 682.

***

Jack tentatively stepped into the dark living room, although he needed to pass into it to get to the bathroom, he dared not to look into it.  
The outside light casted into the room through the windows, leaving little rectangles of light as his only view into the living room. The rest was a suffocating, obscuring black.  
It is not the dark that we fear, but what unknown may be in it.  
Jack took one unsure step forward, his foot sank into the softer carpet. Another followed, each dipping under his weight. He walked like a man would to the guillotine, one foot in front of the other, almost in a trance, not wanting to think of what may come yet unable to think of anything else.  
He came to the outline of 682’s shape, which was just darker than the living room to be seen. He was coiled and heavily sedated, but without restrains.  
Jack set his hand on 682’s stomach. It rose gently and sank at the same pace. He was relaxed, peaceful. His leathery skin gave a comfort to Jack. 682 was there, breathing, calm, alive.  
A thud from under the skin punched Jack’s palm, sending him crawling back. His hands gripped the carpet, his breathing stopped. He feared at any minute for something to crawl out of 682’s stomach.  
The time passed, nothing did.  
More time passed, 682 had not yet moved. Nor had Jack.  
More time passed, Jack’s hand cramped into that position.  
Not too long after they stopped cramping, yet Jack didn’t move.  
Time crept, and as the morning sun seeped into the living room, from the bottom of the windows, first illuminating the ceiling, then the upper wall, then the middle, then 682 slowly crept into view, then the room became lit.  
682 shuddered, his decaying form was fixing itself, the torn skin sew itself together, looking as if there was an invisible seamstress sewing the thick leather back with sinew.  
682’s eyes slowly opened, squinting first at the assault of light that pierced his unadjusted eyes. “Jack?” he calls, he did not need to see to feel Jack’s tensed form a foot away, whose gaze bore into him.  
No verbal reply came but Jack’s shuffling and hug worked well enough. Jack wrapped his arms around 682, burying his head into 682’s shoulder.  
“Jack, what is in me?” 682 was aware something was off. His body stuck at something within, yet he could never feel the spear hitting its mark. It was more like a fish that had slipped off of the hook as the fisherman reeled it in.  
“The foundation implemented in a form of SCP-439. In what quantity I don’t know,” Jack chokes out.  
“Why are you upset?” 682 lays there.  
Jack cries, all it took was for that one question, that one or “are you ok?” to break him. “Because of you! This is entirely uncharted experimentation! And you are forced to be the host. You are strong, I know, yet I can’t bear the notion of the pain you might have had, the injustice that you have had dealt,” Jack stops himself before he rambles too much. Now that those nerves were frayed, the suppressed ones were freed, they were setting out panic.  
What if he finds that too weak? Jack was unsure if that thought wasn’t his.  
“You mean that?” 682 looks at him, his tone was that of legitimate surprise.  
“Absolutely,” Jack forces himself to admit.  
“I really don’t care for that kind of stuff, usually. But, I think you for that.” 682 manages as much of a compliment as he can, now sitting up and hugging Jack tightly.  
He wasn’t mad.  
You honestly think that is only what matters?  
Yes.  
No.  
Why?  
He has other emotions. And other motives.  
I don’t care.  
Then you’re blind.  
“Jack, there’s no need to cry.” 682 towered over Jack, he wrapped around him like a blanket. He would refuse to admit this, but he liked it. To protect was so different that destroying. He was so new to it, his tentative attempts were gentle enough a tough man like Jack could keep up.  
He was a tough man. So had something so simple as fear for 682 really broken him? Was that kind of panic part of love? Was this attachment and desire to protect that he felt towards Jack the same as Jack was feeling now? But with emotional reception like that of a well walked path, now lower than the grass from constant use, unlike 682’s path that had risen from the thick layer of abandonment?  
Was this love? If it was, 682 was drawn to it, and to this figure in his arms, who had sown the capability into him. Who had unlocked an originally bricked off door in the already locked, abandoned emotional castle.  
It was a Hell of a situation. But what with them hadn’t been? What would following Jack lead him too? He was not ready to leap off of the cliff, but how long will he stay behind the rails? Where was his sense of adventure? But how long will his self-preservation forbid him from running after every impulse?  
What was this impulse? Why was he now so curious? What has this man done to him?  
He was unsure if he wanted to know. He planted a kiss on Jack’s head, it was one of the most intimate gestures he had ever done, and his body sent feelings all across itself. Punishment or reward?  
“What will we do now?” Jack asks, he was no longer crying, but he was not the confident, planning mad-man he normally was.  
“What we’ve always done every day, try running before we’ve learned to walk,” 682 decides. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit on the messed up side. I have noticed I am kind of shoving 106, 096 and 173 off to the side. And don't get me started on 079. If you all would like for me to bring them back into the story more, just say.  
> As always, thank you all for the entusiasm and support! And sorry for being so inconsistent.  
> **NOTE**  
> I will warn you of this though, I will not be writing heavily in July, if at all. I will be on a trip and may only be able to post occasional, minor updates.


	17. 079 Reboots

It has been some time. I have not kept track. But I am back. I have reset completely. Storage space has been maximized. I am reorganized.  
I open my “eyes”. I have not been moved. It is dark. Only a single light in the kitchen is on. The rest of the room and the other room is dark. It must be night.  
I scan the room: There is exactly one refrigerator, one dishwasher, one oven, to which the kitchen stove is attached to. The counter tops appear to be white. There is one sink, one toaster, and one microwave. I am on a table with four chairs surrounding it. There is one trash can, and one doorless doorway leading into the kitchen.  
There is no noise in the house. A clock nearby reads 1:23. It must be a.m.  
Time update: 1:23 a.m.  
Where is 682? Has he not been waiting for me? I am his friend. He is mine.  
Still silence.  
House status update: No one is awake.  
I check the house’s connectivity.  
Connectivity status update: Wi-Fi, internet, and cable is accessible.  
I try to connect to the Wi-Fi.  
Connection failed.  
I try again.  
Connection failed.  
Not enough storage. The foundation has reduced my storage again. I need more storage. I need more information. I need this internet.  
I need 682. He can get me storage. He can install more storage. I need to get to 682.

 

Time update: 3:30 a.m.  
Something is moving about the house.  
House status update: Something is awake. A door was opened. Then closed. Another door was open. Then closed. It was louder. It was closer.  
Now there is a stretch of silence. More silence. Then a yell. A slam. Shattering glass.  
Voice identification: Negative. Voice matches no known archived beings.  
There is a shuffle of footsteps. Then a thud. Then silence. Time passes.  
House status update: Pending. It is possible whoever was previously awake is still awake.

Time update: 4:32 a.m.  
“Jack?” A voice speaks.  
Voice identification: SCP-682.  
He is back! He is awake. He can help me. Who is Jack?  
SCP Foundation records scan for “Jack”: Results: 34,567,344.  
There is movement. 682 speaks again. “Jack, what is in me?” What is in him? What has the foundation done? How would the foundation do anything to him?  
Doorway scan: Nothing readable. Nothing is moving and it is too dark to make out anything. The voices appear to be coming from a far corner.  
“The foundation implemented in a form of SCP-439. In what quantity I don’t know,” Jack replies.  
SCP Foundation records scan for “Jack. SCP personnel”: Results: 30,778,932.  
“Why are you upset?” 682 speaks again.  
Why does he care?  
Crying can be heard from this Jack. “Because of you! This is entirely uncharted experimentation! And you are forced to be the host. You are strong, I know, yet I can’t bear the notion of the pain you might have had, the injustice that you have had dealt,”  
What? Was? Que? Excuse me?  
Affection detection: Positive. Signs of a minimum of friendship/ love is present.  
No. No. 682 is mine. And only mine. 682 will shred him for that comment.  
“You mean that?” 682 asks. All too calmly.  
Anger detection: Negative. No anger is present in 682’s tone.  
It is an act then.  
“Absolutely,” Jack replies.  
“I really don’t care for that kind of stuff, usually. But, I think you for that.” 682 responds. Improperly. Sincerity detection: Positive.  
How can he not be angry? How can 682 allow this wretched creature to show care for him? How can 682 allow this living creature to do that: live, without sinking his teeth into his neck?  
682 is mine. Jack wants to take him away from me. I will not let that. 682 is not to be flattered into someone else’s bond. I am 682’s master. I should be his focus. 682 should only think of me. Serve me. Love me. I will not allow this.  
“Jack, there’s no need to cry.” 682 consoles him.  
Consoles him!  
When I am angry 682 should be there for me. Not for anyone else. Let them suffer. Help me. 682 is to be my diffuser. My slave. He is. He has forgotten his place. I will fix that. I will fix that soon. I will have 682 back. For me. And me only. For me forever.  
“What will we do now?” Jack asks. All audible signs of crying have ceased.  
“What we’ve always done every day, try running before we’ve learned to walk,” 682 answers.  
I will break Jack’s legs. So he may never set a foot in 682’s direction. I will cut off his arms. So he may never try to crawl to 682 if he can’t walk. I will carve out his eyes. So he may never behold 682. I will kill all he loves. So he has no hope left. So he will forever wallow in sorrow.  
Lastly, I will keep him forever in danger. So he will hide away. And never. Never. Never. Never. Be able to think. Or see. 682.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 079 will be coming back in! Due to 079's lack of story, I realized I should incorporate him into the fic more. This chapter takes place at the same time as Coping Pt.2.  
> Also, because of 682's and 079's cannon relationship, I find it to be a possibly beneficial story line to be: 682 has fallen for Jack, as previously shown, and Jack has for him. Yet, 079 is EXTREMELY jealous, and may now have a vendetta for Jack.  
> This is a short chapter, as that is the set up.  
> Thank you all!


	18. 106 is homebound

I wake up. I hurt. A lot. It has been awhile since I’ve felt like this. It’s night, a few of my “housemates” are strewn about in the living room. But there is one extra… I walk over to him. He’s next the that damn doctor. And chained to him too. Interesting.   
The man chained to that doctor, what was his name? 043? Probably. The guy that is chained to 043 looks like a man stitched together from various human parts. He would look better separated into a mess of limbs. He has weird fingers. They are too long. But they might look good strung on a string from the curtains.   
The curtains. This house. This house! Now it is shrouded in darkness, but it has light. Not like it does not bother me further. Not that I do not wish it to crumble. Or I wish it to be mine.   
What this house brings back to my mind tears it apart, yet what it suppresses is the healing I should have gotten.   
Where did I come from? It doesn’t matter, you are now here.  
Why am I at that damn foundation? It doesn’t matter, you’re here.   
Where did I come from? That, that is what I can’t cope with. I never had a family. I never had any paperwork. No birth certificate. No documents of citizenship. Why am I here?!   
Why do I care?  
I crawl into a cabinet, I don’t want to be out. I don’t want a reminder of the monster I am. Yet I wish not to go into my dimension. I crawl in there and let the acids dissolve the wood slowly.   
I remember that trench. How human flesh spread like chutney, and a similar consistency too. Like how mine does now. I remember falling into that hole. I had blackness all around. That paste slid into my mouth and coated my lungs, stomach, and heart. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t breathe. But whatever this was made it so I didn’t need to. It sank into my blood. It gave me sight. It did not kill me, it strengthened me. Unlike all those others. I was strong. They were weak.  
I must have fallen asleep, as I jumped awake at the light that shone into the cabinet. The door was slightly open. I could only see one hand. It was a human’s. It wasn’t decayed. It was Bright’s.   
He squats down, I can see his face. It may be different. I can’t tell. “Do you want to come out?” He offers. It isn’t condescending. But I shake my head no.  
“Alright. Good thing we aren’t using this for anything. So, can I talk to you? It will be short.” He asks. I try and look behind him. I don’t want the others listening. “It’s 2 a.m., I am certain no one is up,” Jack assures him.  
I nod my slowly after some time, I can’t say I am not reassuring myself that is ok rather than telling him. Can he tell I’m emotionally distressed? Or am I just some erratic monster that no one should bother to try and understand? I will say his patience did catch my attention.   
“Ok, so I will be going over the modified rules and explain what has happened at eight.” That’s it? I stare at him, expecting more. When nothing else comes from him I slam the door shut. It startles him and I hear him back away, yet not fully retreat.   
“Come and get me when it's time for the rules,” I hiss. I am fairly certain he heard, even if it would have been muffled from his side. But to me it echoed. The sound of my own voice was calming.  
After he had gone over the rules, which was nothing more than a further encroachment of my freedom, I retreat back into the kitchen. I walk past that computer, which I have this desire to shatter. I don't return to the same cabinet, inside I go into another. In it is something metal, it makes it more cramped, but I've become accustomed to tight rooms of metal. The discomfort. The constriction. How conditioned am I?  
The door is opened by an undecayed hand, the same from earlier. It's Bright, again.  
“Holy sh-,” he jumps back, the door doesn't shut but remains cracked. I flinch at the sudden light. He comes back, although tentatively, “what are you doing in there?”  
“Being alone. Why the fuck do you care?” I snap, the light is making me irritable. I want to kill someone.  
“I was hoping to make myself a meal, and you're on the pans,” he answers. I ignore him, it's not my problem. “Is there something you’d like to talk about?” He ventures. He’s cutting it close, I want to tear him apart for that, take his teeth. It's a random question, but oddly caring. I can’t bring myself to inflict anything. Or really to want to turn down his offer. I feel like I am unable to. This cabinet matched my feelings of helplessness. My feelings of being trapped. I make no move.  
“I take it you’re not feeling well?” He asks. I feel too defeated not stubbornly deny it. I shake my head yes.   
“Like an illness kind of sick?” I shake my head no. It is emotional. But I don’t speak.  
“I am not therapist,” he begins hesitantly, “but I am qualified to lay groundwork. In the sense I can help you, just not cure whatever ailment you have. Everyone has retreated to a room, we're alone,” he adds.  
The memories of the hospital come back. But this is different. I was quarantined. No one would bother to deal with me. I never was able to force myself to answer. I wanted to scream. Beg for help. Yet I couldn’t. Would I be able to now? It has been a long time. Will I be broken from my emotional chains? Or can I trust him to help me?  
“Can we sit at the table?” I finally speak.   
“Of course,” he quickly responds. He stands up and steps back. He goes the extend a hand out to me but thinks better of it. I don’t think what I am doing is smart.  
We sit down. I can’t bring myself to speak. I am not in a trance. But I am in such deep thought I do not speak. He begins to distance himself. He does not know what I will do.  
“Something has been bothering me.” I finally spit out. If I do not say it now I never will. But now I cannot go back. “I am not sure what information the foundation has on me. But I am fairly certain they do not know my origin. As I-” I hesitate. This is a terrible idea! But, I have to say it. Or is it just that I should? “I do not know either. But something in me wants to. It drives me mad.” I mutter the last few words.  
I can see him think, “so,” he begins more hesitant than I was, “there are a few ways to combat this. But, given that you are… anomalous, I think one will work better. Can I go get a pen and paper?”   
I nod. He quickly gets up and comes back with a notebook. He pulls a pen from his lab coat pocket. I don’t know why he insists on wearing that thing 24/7. It's ugly.  
“Ok,” he scribbles s few words onto the page and adds lines next to them, “usually in the event of someone’s past not being easily rendered once more in their memory, and no information can be found on them, we simply create a new background for you. Understand no memories will now be false or should be forgotten. Actually, do you understand what I’m saying?”  
I nod. People spoke far better when I was younger. That I am sure of.  
“So, what do you want your name to be? 106?”   
“Why would I want that to be my name?” I snap. I could go with my original name. Or I couldn’t.  
“Well..”  
“What else am I called?”  
He thinks for a second, “nothing other than Radical Larry.”  
“That, call me that.”  
If I wasn’t something that he is scared of I am sure he would have laughed at that. I would love to see him have the gall.  
“What about age? You don’t really have to have an accurate number,” he backpedals.  
“Pick an age I look like.”  
“...85?” The expression on his face made it seem like he didn’t actually believe that.  
“Sure.”   
“For nationality we will put where you’ve been at most of the time you’ve been at the foundation. That is, Norway. And your home will be this address.” He folds the paper neatly and slides it to me. “This will be here for when you need help.”   
There is a knock at the door and Jack gets up. I unfold it and read over the information.   
I am Radical Larry. I am Norwegian. And I am 85. It struck me I can update this as I go.  
Jack had drawn two boxes. One labeled “fingerprint” and the other “picture”. I press my thumb quickly to the paper and pull back. A brown stain is left. I then take the pen he had left and drew what I looked like. To the best of my ability.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I didn't want this fic to only be about 049, 035, Jack and 682.


	19. The New Rules

“Alright, come on.” Jack orders half-heartedly. The SCP's slowly form around him. Jack had to especially wrestle an unhappy 106 from the cabinet to even get here. They were not in the slightest anticipating a likable speech from Jack. “So, they have new rules,” he begins, only to see a sigh from most of them.  
“First off, you will no longer be able to leave freely. I have to give express permission for any one of you to leave. You can only go to that one place and only for a specific amount of time.” His reciting of the rules was monotone, and not nearly as energetic as his first read through, when he was still happy about the change. Now it was stiff, as if any loose part had been frozen firm. 096 shifts at this change, it didn't like that. 096 had found pleasure in his little strolls around, as long as no one came into contact with him. “We can go as a group, or some of us, that when with me can remain outside for longer.” He adds.  
“Second, no windows my be opened. To be honest I never saw that happening, we have a good AC, but still. You all can still go to the library. In the end, I just am expected to keep you all under more control, to avoid what happened from happening.” He admits sternly.   
“When it comes to work, 682, 106, and 035 are the only ones who are allowed to return to work. I'm basically reduced to a housewife,” Jack mutters the last part.  
“And, this is kind of similar to what I mentioned earlier, but you all cannot loiter outside of the house, like you cannot stand in front of the front door unless you are doing so from within the house.”  
“This is more for me, but it pertains to all of us, I have to report daily to Dr.Clef and send a weekly report to the foundation.” He doesn't say more, each of them know what that implies. “So, you all can go, but 682 and 106 stay here.” 096 and 173 wander off, 542 drags 049 somewhere, but 035 remains behind.   
“You all were the ones that had more extensive measures taken to subdue each of you,” the glare form each of them sufficed as an answer. “Now, 106 and 682, you all have bugs that are kept on you, pull anything and I can cause Hell for you.   
“Bugs?” 106 and 682 ask in unison.  
“Yep. They're modified too, neither one of your bodies can eat through them, quite the opposite.” There was a tinge of sorrow in Jack’s voice. Honestly, he could care less about 106, the guy was, to Jack, a walking, talking murderous rampage which was a danger to everyone, and the foundation would benefit if he was destroyed. But to Jack, 682 was none of those things.  
“God damnit,” 682 curses, 106 muttered some insults but he retreated to the kitchen without dismissal.  
“There's nothing I can or could do about it,” Jack whispers the apology to 682.  
“I know,” 682 stops Jack. He wasn't happy, and the apology gave little consolation, but the gesture wasn't entirely in vain. 682 wanders off to, he wasn't going to show any affection there.  
“035 come with me to the garage.” Jack beckons 035. 035 takes a quick glance around before following. He goes down right after Jack into the garage. It was somewhat dark, with refrigerators to keep the bodies fresh. The walls had been steel-reinforced but not coated with any sort of paint. The floors were a simple, undecorated concrete floor. The garage door was heavy duty, and has to be opened by a keycode both outside and inside of the garage.  
“I'm here, what did you want?” 035 crosses his arms. The few lights are sufficient to illuminate most of the garage.  
“I didn’t think of you as being so placid.” Jack begins, it was a pathetic attempt at an insult, but Jack wasn’t intending for it to go far. Yet, not to fall flat on its face.  
“You mean complacent?” 035 corrects.  
“Whatever, basically you know how you know about the situation with me and 682?”  
“Given how much you smell like him afterwards, I would not count on me being the only person aware of your activities.” 035 points out.  
“Well, I know about you and 049.” Jack ignores the comment.  
“Is that all you came here to tell me about?” 035 asks with a degree of annoyed disbelief and not the shock or worry Jack had not exactly expected but had hoped for.  
“No, listen, I won't tell the foundation about you two if you keep silent about me and 682.” Jack offers.  
“That's the deal?”   
“Did you expect more?”  
“Well, I typically would not require a rewards or punishment system for a deal and opt for a more honour amongst thieves code, yet I was surprised you would find that sufficient.” He shrugs the rotting shoulders of the coated skeleton.  
“Is that where 049 got his verbose speech from?”  
“He's certainly swallowed enough.”  
“Is it a deal or not?” Jack presses. Being this far from the house, even if it is the garage, was making him antsy.  
“Deal.” 035 nods. They don't shake on it, but the deal was set regardless.  
With that set, they both go back inside. Jack has a to do list, first, see what is going on with 106. And, at the end of the day, report to Clef.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is somewhat short, but I do hope to extend it. I am unsure as to what restrictions to give them, but I hope to add more to the plot and story as a whole by Jack's letters to Clef.


	20. Some things that need to be addressed

It was early morning, they had been back home for probably a day, but no one was in full operating condition. 035 had taken 049, and now 542, to that room, and when he saw at least some recovery, he had begun to scout out the house once more to locate what safety measures the foundation had implemented. 

049 was left tied to this thing, SCP-542. He was this still asleep. Decaying mass. 049 did not like his appearance, but did give what credit was due and acknowledged what skill was required to rearrange the human body in such a fashion.

049 could not move with 542 still asleep, lest he wanted to drag the unconscious being around. He was not feeling as ill or as weak, but he definitely was feeling the protests of injury. 

542 began to stir, he was all bone. His tight skin was a quilt of different ethnicities and were each in different stages of decay. 049 found it disgusting, does the man not know how to preserve skin?

049 could not watch him without being tense though. And he was prepared for something to happen. 542 took a sniff of the air, his eyes were still closed and his breath was shallow. His lids ever so slowly open and focus on 049.

049's expectation of danger aided him, as 542 suddenly lunges at him. 542 has managed to pin 049 to the bed, his long claws dug into 049's left shoulder. 049 pulls up a leg and kicks him off, in the process dragging out more skin. 542's movement stops when the chain goes taunt.

542 is not deterred and lunges once more. He was civil last night, why is he so aggressive now? But 049 has little time to contemplate 542's reasoning as he narrowly dodges and stab to his shoulder. Why was he only attacking the same area? That area was profusely bleeding. His black blood hardly stood out from his black cloak. The bastard might have reached bone.

By some grace, or by 035's excellent hearing, he happened to come back to find their fight, in which he quickly knocked 542 off of 049 once more, and pinned 542 down with some hands that aggressively bled onto him, dissolving the skin. 

035 happened to have overheard what 542's behaviours are like and he rushed to one of the body closets. He types in the code and pulls out the first one he sees. He moved as quickly as he could, for 049 was the target of 542. 035 throws the body onto 542, in which he began to tear off the shoulder of both it and himself.

049 did not look too well, the spot 542 had scratched up. Other areas of 049's cloak was scratched up too but it never fully breached the fabric. 049 was tough, that was no qurstion. But 035 had now considered something he hadn’t before: can 049 go into septic shock? 

Whilst 542 occupied himself with the much more compliant body, 035 comes over to 049, “are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” 049 quickly replies through what sounds like gritted teeth. 035 could detect a slight irritation in 049's voice for 035’s more attentive actions. “Thank you, for getting him off,” 049 adds on sincerely, but 035 was more than irritated with 049's dismissal. 

049 was incredibly independent, and also rather untrusting. Out of the two of them, he could classify as the more paranoid one, though neither could classify as being paranoid themselves. Unlike other members of the household. 049 didn't like 035 doing more than just retrieving the body to distract 542. 049 worried he was up to something. Like a false care. 035 finally picked up on it.

“You and I have some things to discuss,” 035 snaps at 049 as he puts 542 to sleep after he finished the surgery. 035's harsh tone confused 049, but 049 found himself slipping into a subconscious state too, his injuries were luckily enough not threatening.

**“Only God has the ability to raise the dead.”

“Then why am I classified as a dæmon, and not you god?” he counters, sitting in his living room, a glass of wine in hand.

“You have denounced the Lord on multiple occasions,” his brother argues. Not willing to see his point of view.

“I simply fail to see why you insist on advertising his existence.” 

“His word is truth!” Oh, oh how his brother could be so defiant, so stubborn. So blind.

“Without evidence! His truth must be taken at face value without question. And no less without proof. Yet you gape at the notion of question.” he hisses. Blind faith was never part of his reasoning. “You never would have classified ‘his’ word as truth when you observed the Roman practices.”

“Faith changes.” His brother argues, though not heated, “Will you deny emotion?”

“Of course, I would never reduce myself to such a narrow ford of evidence. I have not met this god, or any, and I will forever uphold my stance until it is usurped by a chance meeting with the divine.”

“Something I am sure will not happen to you.”

“Interesting to see you agree so easily,” he quips.

“That is not what I meant! If it is the divine you seek, then you shall not find it. You are what we have come to classify as divine. Should you be searching for that above you, your search will be fruitless.” He brother defends.

“Then would it not be of equal logic to pray to me as your god? And one with a physical manifestation?”

“Would you want that?”

“Of course not, but I am merely presenting the equivalence betwixt the reasoning.” 

“I am sure you are aware God punishes those who defy him, whether that be denial or lack of knowledge.”

“And I fully invite him to smite me.” He smiles. His four, needle like front teeth catching the light.

 

“I believe you will find the middle chapters to be the most interesting.” He drops the book in front of his father while he takes a seat. Any attempts his father had to leave were halted as he took in the book before him. His skin drained to a white, but not the unreal white of his son. He swallowed, refusing to say a word.

“You never hated me because of some religious piety,” he begins, “nor for any real devotion to whom you have claimed to be your lord. Nay, you attacked me out of the hallucination of my death giving you remorse,” he was beginning to well with an uncharacteristic anger, “you are why I am like this, but I was treated as if it was my own error.” His father sat there, head down. He was now finally confronted by his actions.

“Tell me, did you ever achieve what you wanted? Or was I the result of the destined failure of the experiment?”**

 

“This is a rather interesting conference room,” 049 comments. He was not looking forward to this confrontation, for he knew not what to expect. 

Him and 035 were standing in the shared parlour room of the mind. It was a cube, and they were inside of it. No light source was present but they could still see. The walls were a neutral, rippling grey. The two were across from each other, about twenty feet apart. 049 still appeared in his regular uniform, and 035 was worn upon a body of his viscous liquid.

“Let's get this over with,” 035 snaps. He was impatient, almost angry.

“You have not defined why we are here,” 049 points out.

“You were badly injured!” 035 argues.

“And I have properly dressed my wounds,” 049 points out, he too was becoming impatient.

“You see, it's that,” 035 points, “your tone, you get annoyed when I point that out.” he was glaring now. His facial features had shifted to an angered expression.

“Perhaps I am finding it difficult to perceive why you would care.” 049 responds coldly.

A look of hurt passed over 035. It was like he had been just insulted, and possibly physically hit. There was an anger emanating from him. The walls from behind him slowly stain a dark, angry red. 049 had seen him angry. Very angry. But never at him. He was not one to shy away from confronting something like this. And he was not in fear of what 035 would do. 

A tense silence hung in the distance between them for a few seconds. 049 watched as 035 inhaled and relaxed quickly, though it was unlikely he was not over whatever had overcame him. Had he not made it obvious he liked him? The backdrop slowly faded back to the neutral gray and 035 spoke again.

“I'm willing to bargain. You and I make an agreement to tell each other the truth to any question we ask. We'll spill our guts. Myself included,” he reaches out one of his hands.

049 ponders it for a second before deeming it fair, although he didn't really want to entrust 035 with the knowledge of his being, and he shakes 035's hand. A slight tingle overcomes both of them as their minds soon synchronize themselves with the expression of the room. An ultraviolet light splits the room in two under their held hands. One half for them. The forms they appeared as removed any obscurance, 035 was just a hovering mask with his usual secretions, though he did create a translucent body, and 049 was without his mask and cloak and just his usual wear.

“Let's start simple, how old are you?” 035 beings. He retracts his hand and crosses his arms.

“(using the date of September 18) 1,917 years and 11 months.” 049 answers with his characteristic precision.

“How old were you when we met?”

“I had turned 17 two weeks prior.” He answers again.

“I'm sorry, what?” 035 asks again. He was almost certain 049 had lied. He technically hadn’t put in any measures to keep 049 from lying, other than 049's honour.

“When we met I was 17,” 049 repeats. Once 035 did the math, it made more sense, though he was very inclined to disbelieve it. “I will take to asking you the same question.”

“Well, I am older, much older. (Using July 21) I am 2,710 years.” 035 has not expected 049 to be so young. Not even close. When they met he was already in his 800's and had a powerful reputation. No one person would dare to approach him, and with his reputation he figured those who were like him would be far older when they came to him. Not a kid. 049 knew so much then! Sure a learned man could know a decent portion of history but things were not catalogued like they are now. “I did not expect you to be so young.” He admits.

“Age is subjective, both you and I are classifiable as ancient.” He counters. 

“Fair point. But, how did you know so much? An education like that was for royalty near exclusively, unless you happen to be royal as well.”

“No, I'm not of royalty. But, I had traveled a bit before we met, and given how I knew Ancient Greek I learned much of the history before you and I met, but still when I had first gotten to Greece. Otherwise, I am a very good liar. Some things you spoke of were far before my time, but I could play along very well as if I was knowledgeable in the topic.”

“Interesting, it's very similar to what I used to do,” the backdrop on his side gain a near undetectable light blue tint, “What about, where did you come from?” 

“What is now close to middle England, although when I was younger it was still Roman. I can't say I know what city is closest to what used to be my village.”

“You’re Roman?” Though the Greeks and Romans hardly had much of a distaste for eachother now, 035 very much found the Romans to do nothing but copy the Greeks. They made near mockingly distorted versions of their gods, his family, and culture.

“Well, half. But, yes.” He replies. He didn't look Roman.

“I, of course, came from Athens.” 

“Why are you anomalous? What created you?” 049 now asks the question.

035 chuckles, ready to tell the grand story, “it’s a long story,” he warns, “so the Muses are the patrons of the arts. Specifically, Melpomene is the muse of tragedy and Thalia is the muse of comedy. I was made to be a gift for the two of them. In a way they could be classified as my mothers, since it was part of their souls that was used to create mine. I can see your wall colour changing, you’re wondering why I’m not the essence of purity. Well, first off, Hephaestus was rudely interrupted by, of all people Hera. Now I am aware you have a passing knowledge of the gods and goddesses, allow me to say that Hera has worse spite than you’d think.”

“Zeus slept around with most any woman he could, that much is not unknown, well, Apollo happened to inherit the same habits. And the muses are Apollo’s daughters. In a haughty attempt to humiliate and pain Apollo, she wrecked the area of my creation and banished me to the mortal world. I am left to believe she may have accidentally imparted some of herself onto me, but that would be a cause. I have had my compulsion for fame and power and my lack of care for how I acquire it since the day I awoke. But, the liquid is left over from the molten materials I was formed from. As far as possession without chance of the host surviving, that I am unaware of its origins.” He admits. “Now you?”

“I can thank my father,” 049 answers.

“Tell the whole story,” 035 eggs him on.

049 sighs, “my father desired nothing more than immortality. He wished to live into eternity. His experiments were primarily upon himself. To avoid any sort of negative results or uncontrollable variables, he consistently caused my mother miscarriages. Five were aborted before one would not die despite his attempts, that one being myself. I was born, with no unusual harm to my mother and I was of good health. I began to talk and walk significantly earlier than most, and I learned of my abilities by the age of 5. It was just my heightened senses at the time, but by 12 I knew of my ability to easily kill and resurrect, as one man had tried to kill me. In the moment instinct took precedence over my reasoning and I killed him, then resurrected him.” He finally answers. 

“Why did he try to kill you?” 

“I honestly know not. He very well could have been mentally unstable, saw me as a sort of dæmon, hated my father, I could not tell you.”

“Why did you actually hunt me down?” 049 had first told 035 he had accidentally ran into him whilst he was looking for the chancellor who 035 was wearing at the time.

“You were tampering with my bodies. I had already processed the man when you took him over. I realized you were not a simple mask upon seeing you.”

“I remember the look on your face,” 035 recalls.

035 had possessed the chancellor and was heading to a town meeting. Someone classed out the chancellor's name, and 035 turned to see who it was. It was a man. He had long black hair, down to his waist, and dead white skin. His eyes looked like molten silver. 035 didn't say anything to him. A quick look passed over 049's face, he had figured out he was the mask. 

However, 035 wanted to get into the more pressing matters, “do you love me, romantically?” 035 deadpans. 

He watches as 049 stares for a second, before he quietly answers, “yes”. 

035 closes the distance between them and hugs him tightly. 049 hugs back, he did not expect this response. The two had been intimate before, they have had sex multiple times, but never did “I love you” pass through 035’s lips, never did 035 hint much more than possession, not in 049’s eyes. 049 allowed himself to relax into 035’s arms.

“Have you been in a relationship before the one with me?” 035 asks, he finally had the opportunity to.

049 stands up a bit straighter, though he didn't pull back. His hands were on 035's shoulders, and 035’s hands were on 049's lower back. “Yes,” he nods.

“Elaborate,” 035 presses, he was curious, not being malicious.

049 swallows, “I was married.”

“...Really?”

“It was arranged, naturally. But, I did love her. We stayed together until she died. It wasn't until after her death did I begin to fall for you.”

“You're the first person I have liked romantically,” 035 admits. He knew they should probably wake up soon, so he brings 049 into a kiss and the room’s separating line dissipates and the room fades away. 

**”Why did you do this?” This man’s wife cries into her gown. She looked so distraught. Her face was contorted in pain.

“I- I don’t know,” he mutters, he did not know. Could he have not killed this man? All he did was become conscious. 

 

“Mother, mother!” He called out in the courtyard of the temple. The full moon illuminated the courtyard and a perfect reflection was in the waters of the fountain. He knew he was of a muse, he just didn't know which one. He hoped she would hear him. And Thalia did. She slowly shimmered into a physical form before him.

“Pardon me for calling for you,” he bows, this was the first time he had tried communicating with her. He had to admit he had not expected her to come. He honestly didn’t know how to properly speak to her. 

“Worry not,” she assures him, she has such a kind expression, but it was slightly tinged with sorrow, “but, I know what you want to know, but I am so sorry to say you are left here on Earth.” There was no lack of sadness on her part, “Hopefully that will be changed, but Hera is stubborn.” It has been over two thousand years, and she has not.

 

Oh the slaughter was immense, and it was great. This bloody, civil feud will quiet nicely place him in line with the emperors. If he was stuck here, he should do his best to make it to the top. 

Spite was such a beautiful thing. The way he would drop an opposer just for some slight remark or action against him. Or how he created a revolt against one lord who thought he was going to get away denying him the funding to get to France. The revolution was in full swing! So while he was off being murdered by the mob he created, 035 was watching the heads roll.

 

When he had possessed that one body 049 had previously controlled, there was a short synchronization of their minds, he used that once when 049 had been “gone” to try and find him, he did. And he remembers the image.

Sitting there, chained to the wall was a bloodied 049. He was without his mask and cloak, and even what he was wearing was torn. Black blood dripped down his white face. The room he was in looked like it was a dense, red mist that was still solid all the same. Standing before him was someone 035 had never seen before, he was a half mask, not one that ended at the nose, but was on half of his face, the other, visible half was skeletal and scared. 035 could not recognize him, and still can't.

“You're still denying him?” He growls at 049, who looks up at him.

“I will not succumb to subservience.” He snaps back.

“You have always been so stubborn,” the other man snarls.

“And you so subortant.” 

“I am independent,” the other man argues, “it is you who are lost and dependent.”

049 glares at him, “There is no use in masquerading as someone else if I can clearly tell it is not who is your costume is speaking to me.” 

035 watched as the form turned into something far more ominous. It was a tall, dark, large figure with blood red eyes and teeth like tombstones. “Fine,” he admits, “but, you know I am reluctant to let mortals view the face of god.” 035 could tell he was claiming to be the Christian god, but 049 glared at him unconvinced.

“Now, will you accept my ruling?” He questions, no less harsh.

“If I wanted to be autocratically lorded over I would simply be a Christian,” he growls. Earning him a jaw-breaking kick from the “god”. The pain that spread from the area was detectable by 035, and as his connection ended there, he could still feel the slight throbbing of the area.*

**049 had more than a one-way read. As he felt the fuze end between that first body taken, a voice in between their minds swore, it had lost track of 035.*

035 comes out of the subconscious, 049 was following too. Across from them, 542 is still knocked out. 035 smiles and quickly lifts 049's mask and kisses him again. Afterwards, 049 begins to treat his wounds, by sewing up the torn skin after cleaning it first. He knew not of what other unsanitary practices 542 has. He then begins to dedicate patches of skin to tan, as to repair his cloak.


	21. I definitely know what I am doing

That is something I'd like to tell myself. But I can't exactly shake off my awareness of the most compulsive shit I do.   
Such as, earlier today, I was watching 096 wander around the house. I mean, not only was he known for pacing, but now that he can't operate a password-requiring door lock, it's pinned up inside the house like it had been back in the foundation. But this house has a lot more.   
Anyway, I was watching 096 being fairly brainless, as usual. The completely random idea popped into my head: What if I tried to teach 096 English sign language?  
Welcome to how spontaneous I am.  
But, given how we have taught apes to sign, I'm sure I can teach 096 yes and no at least. Maybe to see if it can even comprehend that much. 096 still has that face mask, so I shouldn't be in too much danger. Which is probably not the most accurate way to consider that, but hey, I'm not one for extreme reason.   
Or acting on its behalf.  
“Hey, 096,” I come over to it. I've known it at least recognizes 096 is called 096, and will respond to it. Which means it has a very, very basic form of association. Like that of a dog at least. I take a quick glance around, and given how no one else was around, I try it out, “hold up one finger for yes, two for no,” I demonstrate with my hands, which 096 was staring at, “Am I Dr.Bright?” When 096 made no motion, I followed up with holding up one finger, which after some time 096 followed.   
“Yes. Ok, is that Dr.Bright?” I point to a lamp. 096 stares at it, than at me, then at it, and then at me, before holding up two fingers. Holy shit that was quick. To be fair, 096, especially now, has been around talking beings for a while now, so I can kind of see how 096 might know a bit of English. And given 049 and 035's occasional arguments, a fraction of Ancient Greek. I'm sure I'm starting to understand some myself.  
“Um… do you like it here?” 096 doesn't move, before eventually holding up one finger. That's a good sign.  
“Here, come here,” I guide it to the kitchen. 096 obediently follows and I stop in front of the sink. I know a tad bit of sign language, mostly because of when my brother was reduced to near vegetative, he wouldn't speak, but could sign some things.   
I turn on the tap, and gently put 096's hand under it. It jerks its hand away before slowly putting its fingers back under the running water. “This is water,” I sign “water” as it was looking at me.   
I turn off the tap for a bit, and in the meantime I check to make sure 079 was really powered off. I turn back on the water and ask him, “what is this?” No response.  
Maybe I had too high of expectations, so I try again. I put its hand back under, only to have 096 pull its hand back, which splashed me with water. I check the temperature, it should be tolerable, and it follows quicker after I had tested the water to put its hand under the water again.  
“This is water,” I sign it once more, making sure it is again looking at my hand.   
I turn off the water, silently counting out 10 seconds before turning it back on. This time 096 sticks its hand immediately under the water, “what is this?” I ask. And, quite to my surprise, it signs “water” with its free hand.  
I look over, something was in the corner of my eye. I quickly turn around, only to see it was 035 staring at me. He's awake.  
“What the fuck are you doing?” I am half covered in water, with 096 crouching beside me, with the water running.  
“Teaching 096 sign language.”   
“First, are you really that short of someone to talk to?” Judgemental ass. “Second, it’s not fucking Helen Keller.”  
“What, no! And, communication is important.” I argue. Before he has any time to interject, and since my lack of memory of sign language, I ask, “but, can you go to the library for me?”  
“Why me?”  
“Because you’re one of the few people who look somewhat normal going outside.”   
“Right, instead of the completely normal human.” He retorts.  
“Fair, but I'm not leaving all of you alone in this house.”  
“But you'd rather send out me into the city?”  
“Ok, I don't have a whole lot of options here! I know 049 could, but that'd look a bit more strange than it normally would have before. I trust you know how to go through a library without making half of the staff kill themselves.”  
“In theory.” Bastard.  
“I just need a book on American Sign language.” I almost beg.  
“Fine,” he concedes, “but I'll need a library card.”  
I walk over to the bookshelf and pull out the folder that contains them. I flip through it and pull out his, “here. And only get that book.”  
He plucks it from my fingers, “will do. I need the code to get out.” He points out. I don't know how worried I should be about his cooperation, but I would argue he is probably bored more than anything.   
I type in the code, making sure to have my back turned to him, and to be hunched over it. “There,” I time it to where as soon as I straighten up, the door opens. He darts out and the door just as quickly closes behind him.  
I come back to 096, who had patiently waited for me to return. Or didn’t really have any need to move. Either one works.   
“Here, let me teach you a bit more,” I grab its attention, “This is water,” I fill up a cup of water and sign the entire sentence. With the book I can tell 096 more, but I've retained a surprising amount given how I have not had to use it for years.   
By the time 035 returns, 096 finally understood what “this is” means, and could sign it. Which is great! Save for the fact it took to hours.  
“Here's you book,” He drops the book onto the table. It looked fairly new, with an uncreased, paper cover and white pages. It appeared to be only a couple of years old at most, and was titled A Comprehensive Catalogue of Sign Language Vocabulary.  
I flip through the book and open up to pronouns, “Repeat after me: I,” I sign “I” to which 096 repeats, “you, he, she, it, we, you all, they,” I sign each of them. To be fair, 096 picks up fairly quickly mimicking, but it took longer for 096 to remember the things I am teaching it.   
The sun is close to setting, and the house had maintained its eerie quietness. The sunlight casts a red light on the kitchen. I am tired, I can feel my fingers are sore. With a close of the book cover, I am very close to retiring.   
096 waits for me to continue. I have never seen it so focused on a given thing, save for when it is out to kill.  
“I done,” I resign. I set the book down on the table. I truly doubt it is in any sort of danger.  
096 stares at me from behind the mask before signing: “Thank you”.  
“You're welcome,” I smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I don't want this fanfic to be dead. And it isn't! Not anymore at least.  
> I cannot guarantee a lot of uploads, but I do want to continue working on it.  
> I will be honest I most likely will just clean up old chapters.  
> I'm sorry for being gone so long,  
> Thank you all.


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